


Reunion

by DixieDale



Series: The Life and Times of One Peter Newkirk [29]
Category: Clan O'Donnell - Fandom, Hogan's Heroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-14 10:31:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14767907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DixieDale/pseuds/DixieDale
Summary: The team is together again, Hogan as well as the others of the Command Team.  What Peter had thought would be a time of laughter, shared stories, a reaffirmation of the bonds that joined them together turned out to be partly that, but also partly something quite different.  Now Peter has to not only look more deeply at his friends, but also look in the mirror, do some earnest soul-searching and make a hard decision.  Just where does his future lie?





	1. Somehow, I Never Expected This

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected offer sets Peter's head spinning, along with some private sharing that brings back memories, some sweet, some perhaps not so much. So many questions are swirling around inside, he's just not sure how to find the answers. He'd heard Hogan's view, and Lord knows The Big Brown Eagle had always had all the answers, or at least thought he had, back in camp. Can the others give him some different insights? Well, maybe; it certainly seems like Louie is willing to try, and as for Andrew, a little unknowing encouragement from Maude and Marisol has him giving it his best shot as well.

It was late afternoon, three days after the now-General Hogan had dropped his bombshell during the congenial session round the poker table. Peter leaned forward over the porch rail, drawing in on his third cigarette, puzzling over the whole bewildering mess. His eyes were somber, his jaw tight, and he had been getting that sense of premonition he used to get back in camp when a mission had been about to go all pear-shaped.

{"Still, ain't everyday an ex-RAF Corporal, pickpocket, and thief gets an invite to become Aide to a Yank General. As well as the more personal relationship 'e implied. My Mavis would be right proud, now wouldn't she?"} His naturally skeptical side gave a snicker at this little speech.

{"Yes, Peter me lad, 'ow many times did you two talk about plans of a future together after the war, then 'ave Robb walk them all back when 'e remembered what it'd mean for 'is military career? Early on, that is, when it still seemed right, before 'e started changing."}

Why now, when Peter was comfortably settled in at Haven, with Caeide? Why now, when he had just made an offer to Andrew to come and be part of their family? Sure, the General was up for his second star, which would give him more control in his staff selection, but would also put him and that staff at increased scrutiny, and the idea of the powers-that-be accepting a lowly ex-RAF Corporal in that role, much less anyone with Peter's street creds or sexual proclivities was just rather naive, not to mention the awkwardness of Peter never being formally released from the RAF, him having just sort of wandered away in a fevered daze after disembarking from that troop ship in London. Neither of their militaries let the 'deviant element' openly serve, and discovery would bring about dire consequences, for Peter anyway, though maybe not for the General, with all his influence. To think otherwise was just naive.

Problem was, Peter mused, the one thing Hogan was NOT, was naive. Charming, charismatic even, brave, crafty, manipulative, arrogant and insistent on being in charge, both generous and self-serving - yes, those things were just part of his character, but naïveté wasn't. Still, that offer . . .

Almost as if he were the host, not a guest, Hogan had taken control, started, "glad we could all be together here again, especially since I want you all to hear the offer I came here purposely to make. You know I'm coming up for my second star, and they are starting to rag me about not having an Aide. Well, I've had one, actually more than one, but no one who really understands how I work, no one who can really offer the kind of support I'll need in this new role. Peter, I'd like you to come with me and work with me; you know me better than just about anyone; we'd make a great team." 

Hogan had said more, of course, then and later in the hallway outside the guest rooms he and the other two former POW's were using their stay at Haven. (Andrew was in family quarters, at the far end of the building.) The words had been flattering, encouraging and sweet, though not as sweet as the kisses Hogan had pressed on him during their passionate interlude in Hogan's room.

Why, Peter wondered to himself as he took another deep draw on the almost finished cigarette, had he let himself be drawn into Hogan's room and onto the bed? It was such a neutral and impersonal place, that guest room. Why hadn't he insisted on Hogan coming to HIS quarters; HE was the one who lived here, after all. That's what he intended with Andrew eventually, if all went right, invite him, welcome his younger friend into his own bed, the bed where he slept any night he wasn't stretched out next to Caiede.

Maybe that was the difference - with Andrew, Peter was older, the more dominant personality, though he never had, and never would urge Andrew into anything more than what Andrew wanted. With Hogan, Peter had, at least in the earlier days, mostly thought of them as equals in their lovemaking, although Hogan, as Senior Officer, had always been the leader, the commander in their wartime exploits, of course.

Sometimes he thought he'd been deluding himself there, (sometimes he damned well knew he was!) just as he'd knowingly ignored, for the most part anyway, the jealousy, the manipulation, just that hint of darkness in Hogan. He'd watched his commanding officer play everyone around him, for the sake of the mission, and had told himself he was the exception, that with him, Hogan wasn't playing a game, with him, it'd been real, at least that part of it. After all, everyone had their dark side, Peter knew that as well as anyone, and if anything could draw it out, it was bloody well the situation they'd been in at Stalag 13.

{"That was it, the war; it'd be different now, most likely, maybe?"}. He realized he didn't sound all that convincing, even to himself.

Now Peter felt he needed to take another look at that relationship, and the confusing feelings this day was causing to build up inside him. Nevermind his bewilderment as to how he could have come to care so deeply for two men so very different from each other. The uneasy feeling he got sometimes, that there were blanks in his memory, odd gaps in his understanding, it flooded back now, and his discomfort grew. Somehow he knew making any decisions without filling in some of those missing pieces would be a huge mistake.

The comments that'd been dropped by Robb, ever so casually over the past few days, came back to him - the comments about how well Caeide, Maude and Marisol ran things, so nice that Peter didn't have responsibilities to interfere with having the free time to spend with his old mates. How he must like having some congenial company, how much Peter had been a man of the city, how he must miss the hustle and bustle of the wider world where his talents could have better scope. Nothing too blatant, but just suggestions that Peter didn't play too great a role here, didn't really belong. And always, hints, memories, complete with sly glances and light touches, of their stolen moments together.

He hadn't missed the tiny glances Robb had taken of Caeide, either, assessing, with hints of self-satisfaction. He could tell Robb wasn't impressed with how the woman dressed or acted; well, she was running a working farm, handling stock, the fields, and had never been one for frills and falderalls anyway. She dressed simply, as she always had, as clean and neat and tidy as the circumstances and the day allowed.

Robb hadn't ventured far from the house, hadn't helped with anything, hadn't even offered. Peter wasn't sure the officer actually realized physical work, farm work was the sort of thing that just naturally got one a trifle mussed; that Caeide, that any of them coming in needing a shower and change of clothes was inevitable. Blimey, wasn't as if they didn't all clean up at the first available moment, now was it? For someone who'd spent time in a camp where showers were rationed, he was being a bit smug; course, even in camp, with Klink in charge, Hogan had found ways around that prohibition, Peter knew. Partly through being an officer, partly, well, Klink's quarters didn't have that same rationing of water, did they?

Peter had been worried when the idea of the visit first came up; yes, of course he wanted to see him, NEEDED to see him, but Hogan and Caeide, like oil and water they were, and he tried to forget their last meeting, the part Hogan had assigned the woman in his plan. Now, if he'd been watching a card game, he'd have been sure Robb felt he held a winning hand, just from that smug look, obviously mentally comparing how he saw himself with how he saw her, comparing their levels of appeal.

Peter knew he was being manipulated; that much was clear to anyone who had any experience at all with the once-Colonel and his 'monkey business', as Schultz had called it. The question was, why? One thing was sure, it wouldn't be a simple answer - the man never did simple when complicated was possible, never had just one objective when several objectives could be served at the same time. "Probably why he and Marya never hit it off; too much alike," Peter muttered to himself.

Just as important, why was Caeide standing back from the whole interplay, not commenting above the occasional polite smiling response to a direct question, not urging him to her side either with a look, a word, a touch. In fact, she seemed, well, distant, reserved. Was she really okay with this, okay with him maybe leaving Haven for good? He'd watched her not half an hour ago, making her way up the winding slope that led to the large barn to give the dairy stock their evening feed, the big hound Estelle at her side.

{"Shouldn't take her too much longer"}, he thought to himself, {"we've only the two that needs milking and them almost finished, too early in the season for the others. Feed's right there, no water to haul what with the rains keeping the water tanks full."} He usually, almost always in fact, accompanied her on her evening rounds, for company and conversation mostly, since she liked dealing with the daily care of the big stock herself, though usually finding himself lending a hand without even thinking about it. He hadn't in the past few days though, not while his friends were here, though he had when it was just Andrew visiting, sometimes both of them going with her.

His talents with the four-footed animals were more limited than hers anyway, he told himself; he could help wheedle the best deals when purchasing new stock, get a good price when selling, he had become comfortable enough with the milking pail (though not without delivering an occasional ribald explanation about his 'hard earned skills'), and his strong, clever hands were adept in aiding in difficult births. But the actual day-to-day chores in those barns were mostly handled by Caiede, just as the day-to-day work with the poultry was handled by Marisol, and the brewing and cooking left up to Maude.

Peter had discovered in himself an aforeto unsuspected talent for the planning, for problem solving, for dealing with their suppliers and the other Clan enclaves; he'd mostly taken over the office, helped with the general work and chores, of course, from planting to harvesting, and was set for teaching the odd class or two when the youngsters from the Clan were in residence for training.

{"So, wasn't true at all what 'e was suggesting, that I wasn't really pulling a right part of the load around 'ere, that I'm not really needed. I'm not just a 'anger-on, none of us are! We all do our bit, only reason we've been able to get done as much as we 'ave. If Andrew stays, we'll 'ave another strong part of the team, the family. We've different strengths, different talents, and they all fit together in a good way. So maybe it's not where I thought I'd ever end up, not what I pictured me to be doing; that don't make it WRONG, just unexpected like."}

As he contemplated lighting his fourth cigarette of the afternoon, sure proof of his agitated mental state, {"coo, that's more than I've smoked in any one day for a long time!"}, he heard soft footsteps come up behind him, and turned to smile at Louie, his closest friend other than perhaps Andrew, and the one he'd met first at the prisoner-of-war camp. Neither spoke, although Peter nodded his thanks while accepting the glass of whiskey Louie handed him.

They stood quietly, side by side, for a bit, sipping from their glasses; then, softly, hesitantly, Peter asked, "what's going on, Louie? I know I'm being 'erded, but I can't quite see the why or where of it all."

A relieved sigh came from the much shorter Frenchman, "I was afraid you wouldn't see that; I know how much you have respected him, cared for him, and we are all so accustomed to following his lead, trusting him to make the decisions and call the shots. We have, for so long, trusted that his games, manipulations, were for our benefit, for the benefit of the mission; now, though we may no longer have a common mission, that habit still pulls at us, doesn't it? But, yes, he has that look, the one that says he's running a game where only he knows the rules."

"Makes it a bit 'ard, not knowing, though. And with not knowing what Caiede's about, especially with 'er playing least-in-sight," muttered the tall, lanky Englishman. Caiede had stepped into the background slightly now that his friends were here, he knew, wanting to let him enjoy himself in their company. She knew he'd be spending his nights elsewhere, and other than some light teasing, made no more of it, would be welcoming him back into her bed easily once they'd left. This time, though, after Hogan's declaration, she had pulled back much farther, tending to the business of the farm, making herself scarce.

"Peter, remember what you know about each of them, about who they are, deep down. Hogan is the ultimate manipulator, always after the ultimate goal, after what HE wants. Even if you can't figure out what he is aiming for or why, this you can count on; he will be at you, nudging you, moving you in the direction he wants you to go. For him, it would be that he has decided on the outcome he wants, and that is what he will try and move you toward. Caiede? For Caiede, manipulation is a thing foreign to her, her entire being. It is not an innate skill for her, and not one she could easily develop, I think, or even want to. If anything, when presented with such a situation, I believe she would lean maybe so far in the other direction, in order to give you total freedom of choice, that it might seem almost that she has no interest in the outcome. While that is not the case - don't forget, mon ami, I have seen how she looks at you! - this is something our Hogan will try to use to his advantage, to goad you, "see, this is how much I want you with me; she doesn't seem to need you or to really care all that much." But, it seems to me, Peter, that there are two more basic questions here than the motives of those two."

"And just what might that be?", he grumbled.

"Why, first, of course, what do YOU want? This is YOUR LIFE, Peter! Where do you want to be, what kind of life do you want, what will make YOU most happy? We've each of us lost so much to that war - the lives we would have had. That cannot be changed, but we can try to make good choices for ourselves now. We will not be able to have EVERYTHING we might want, who does, but we can have some of what we want. We just have to decide what best to strive for.

"Alright, then, the other question?"

"The question of not just what each of them wants, but why. Remember how close we all were in the Stalag; brothers, friends, teammates, and in some cases, lovers. We were his to command. When we get together again, is it not remarkable how easy it is to fall back into the old camaraderie? It seems to me that Hogan is perhaps a bit lonely, thought I am not sure that is the right word, perhaps more than a bit jealous, and perhaps still thinking of us, all of us, as HIS. Of all of us, he considered you most of all to be 'his'; he thought you would always be waiting for him when he was ready to make a place for you in his life, if that ever was to happen. The point is, he thought it would be his choice - IF it happened, how, when, for how long. Now, he sees Caiede as having what he considered, perhaps still considers HIS - you."

"Does he truly think he can bring you in as his Aide, have you be at his side thru his career? Is he willing to risk his career for that? I don't know. But he knows your stubborn pride, mon ami; knows that if you leave here with him and it is not, shall we say, successful, your pride would keep you from returning to Haven. He would still consider that a triumph; you will no longer be with HER, the one he considers his rival. You mentioned to us that you had asked Andrew if he'd like to come live here, as he is no longer happy where he is. Perhaps he also thinks that without you here, Andrew will not stay."

"Part of this is about you, I truly believe that, Pierre; he wants you, that I am sure of. However, I also believe part is about depriving Caeide of that which he may believe she took from him, you, now maybe Andrew as well, paying her back somehow for daring to do that, daring to interfere in his plans. From the time in the tunnels, when they first met and he heard some of the tales of your history together, he viewed her as a rival, with little favor, you know."

Peter stares at Louie for a long time, shakes his head, and groans, "blimey, mate, I'd 'oped I was just being paranoid, too full of meself, but if you think that too . . .". "I mean, Louie, I KNOW what Caiede wants, she's never made any secret of that, not from that first year. Me, a few chosen friends, me, the Clan, me, Haven, me - not necessarily in that order, mind you" he laughed, and Louie joined him, their laughter soft and warm together.

"But she's never tried to override what I wanted. She knows I've 'ad other lovers, only some of them women; she knows to knock on doors around 'ere when you four are visiting; she knows Andrew could be spending time in my bed, if 'e chooses to," admitting to Louie what he'd not spoken of to anyone else of the old group, including Andrew! Louie shot a quick glance over at him, then, a wry smile, as if to say 'yes, I thought that might have been the case!'.

"She's made a place for me 'ere, but 'as never tried to put me on a leash, never put conditions on what she offers. Maybe I don't really know, don't really understand the 'why' of that, but Louie, I'm 'APPY 'ere, for maybe the first time in me life. If anyone had told me I'd be content to spend me days in the middle of bleedin' nowhere, worrying with cows, sheep, ruddy crops, and so on, I'd 'ave told em they were bonkers. Still, there it is." He shook his head, and gave in, pulling out his pack of cigarettes yet again.

With a murmured, "see you at supper", Louie went back inside, and Peter settled back onto the porch rail, staring off into the hills.

Caiede returned with the news that she'd moved one of the cows down to the close barn, that she might possibly be nearer to calving than they'd previously thought. It was Molly, one of the older ones, one who typically needed help in getting the job done, frequently gave false signals as to her time, though she gave wonderfully formed calves in the end.

After a quick supper with the others, she went up to her room for a final wash up, change into more comfortable clothes for spending a night in the barn, and get prepared for a long night. Taking up the thermos of tea and packet of sandwiches Maude had prepared for her, saying good night to those still seated at the table, she made her way to the kitchen door, pausing to glance back at Peter questioningly. Usually Peter joined her on the all night vigils they'd post, but with his friends here, he hesitated, then let her go by herself. He'd reached over to hand her one of the walkie-talkies they kept for communicating here on the farm, and told her to give him a call if he was needed. Her eyes had widened slightly but remained expressionless otherwise, then nodded and left.

He felt the disapproving glances coming his way from Marisol, Maude; the puzzled, disappointed look from Andrew; saw the smug smile on Hogan's face as well. Louie and Kinch felt the undercurrents, but other than a quick glance at each other, remained silent. Andrew opened his mouth, perhaps to volunteer, only to subside at a quick shake of her head from Maude. He sighed in exasperation, in frustration at his friend and his stubborn blindness, and in annoyance at their former commanding officer and his games.

 

***  
The night before: 

Maude knew now, Hogan was a danger to Peter. Oh, she had no doubt he loved Peter, in his own way, but that way was not selfless, not wanting what was best for Peter. No, he loved Peter, so he felt Peter was HIS, to do with what he wanted, that he'd always expect Peter to be available to him, waiting for him, whenever Hogan wanted him, had time for him. She'd seen wives, husbands, even parents who thought that way, that they OWNED someone just because they loved them. She'd seen children never allowed to leave home, marry, form their own families because the parent 'loved, needed' them too much. It rarely worked out well, she knew, that kind of love.

Now, as she and Marisol sat in the Marisol's room at the close of this long day, they talked in soft voices about the visitors, and about Caeide's dream. About how Louie and Kinch were much as they'd expected, and as such, most welcome to this shared home. That Andrew was even better than they'd expected, and their expectations had been high to begin with, and that they hoped he'd decide to stay with them, make this his home; that he was so good for Peter, and indeed, for all of them, and he seemed truly happy here with them. That they'd hoped better of Hogan, had been most disappointed in him, and understood better now why Caeide had been apprehensive about his visit. Oh, of a certainty, he was as pleasing to the eye as they'd heard, and as charming as well, but they were women who had both seen their share of charming handsome manipulators in their day and were not easily taken in; neither were favorably impressed. They agreed that they did not trust his motives, did not trust his intentions, and didn't trust him to care for Peter as Peter deserved to be cared for. And, just as much, they though this was what the Yank movies called a 'turf war'; that Hogan was battling to TAKE from Caeide, to hurt her, just as much as he was trying to GAIN Peter for himself.

They had seen the battle Peter had waged to regain his health, his confidence, to overcome the depression, to find some peace; they had fought that battle right alongside him and knew his victory had been hard won, and most likely would NOT have been won anywhere else, without the stability of this place, the solid work to be done, the steady hand and love of the mistress of Haven, of their support and the support and friendship of Reverend Miles. They hated the thought of that all going to naught, of him losing what gains he'd made, yet they knew the danger was there. What to do about it, what would help, though, that they didn't know; between the two of them they decided to keep a close watch, to see if there might be anything, some little word, a slight nudge, anything, that might point this in a direction where Peter would continue to thrive, rather than get back into a relationship they thought would be so harmful to him.

***

He listened; well, he hadn't intended to listen, but the ventwork and that connecting door kinda let their words come through, and he had excellent hearing, and yeah, maybe he'd moved closer, well, right up against the door and that vent, so maybe he HAD intended to listen, but what they were saying was important. He knew, perhaps better than anyone else here, just how important.

See, he knew things they didn't; things he thought even Peter didn't know; and he knew they were right. Hogan thought he owned Peter, that he had a right to do whatever he wanted because of that. Andrew had told himself he'd never tell anyone what he knew, that it would only hurt Peter, and if Peter didn't remember, then that was probably good. Now, though, he decided that, if it looked like Peter was going to follow Hogan away from here, he just might have to break that promise. He didn't want to; he really hoped Peter would realize just how good it was for him here and make the decision to stay, all on his own. He never wanted to have to tell Peter about what had happened, didn't know HOW he could tell him, even. He was afraid of what Peter would think about HIM, feel about him, feel about himself, once he knew what had happened.

He considered maybe facing Hogan, telling him to stop all of this, but he knew Hogan wouldn't listen; he hadn't before. Well, if he HAD listened before, Andrew wouldn't be having this little talk with himself, now would he, and he wouldn't be so worried about Hogan leading Peter away to somewhere he was all in control again, where bad things could happen again. And if Andrew told Hogan he'd tell Peter about what'd happened, he was a little scared of what Hogan might do. He'd been a little scared of Hogan that whole last year in the camp. If nothing else, he'd convince everyone that Andrew was lying; he could do that, had always been able to convince people of things that weren't so; he was real good at that.

No, Andrew would wait and watch, and hope that Peter made the right decision on his own. Still, if he didn't, then Andrew was prepared to break that promise he'd made himself back in camp. He'd have to; maybe Peter wouldn't believe him either, but he'd have to try. If Peter wouldn't listen, he'd tell Caeide; he knew SHE'D find a way to make Hogan stop once she knew. Maybe he'd tell Caeide INSTEAD of telling Peter; that might be even better. He kinda figured Hogan might end up like one of those 'ravens', though, and he wanted to avoid that if he could. Still, if it was a choice between Peter and Hogan, there wasn't really a choice. A bluebird was more important than a raven, every time!

Suddenly he needed a cigarette, really really bad! He didn't like to smoke in his room at night; he was afraid he might doze off and start a fire. Quietly he got his cigarettes and matches and slipped out of his room and down the stairs and out to the covered back porch. He wasn't even too surprised when, a few minutes later, he felt someone behind him.

"You alright then, Andrew?" came the quiet voice.

"Yeah, just needed a smoke, and some air; and I really like this porch, it's a good place to sit and think. It's just like I dreamed it was," he told Peter.

"Do ya want me to go away, leave you to it, then?" Peter asked, not sure about the serious tone of his friend's voice, and not up to talking about dreams tonight, especially considering the very unsettling ones he seemed to be remembering these past few weeks.

"Oh, no, I was just thinking how nice it is to be able to share a cigarette with you again," handing his over, and Peter chuckled and took a deep drag.

"Yes, we did that a bit, now didn't we? The sharing, that seemed to make 'aving just the one between us just as good as 'aving a 'ole one to ourselves." They smoked in comfortable companionship for awhile, til Andrew started talking.

"I still can't get over you being here, how much at home you are, how right it seems for you. You were always talking about London, but, come to think of it, I guess that's not really right either. You talked a lot about the pub, about Maude and Marisol, maybe more than other stuff; I was really surprised about them being here. It seems right, though, the three of you being together now, here at Haven. How did it happen, them coming here?"

Peter wasn't sure why this was something that needed to be discussed in the middle of the night, but he was just as glad to get away from the troublesome thoughts he'd been chasing around in his mind up in his room, so he thought back over what he'd learned from the two East End women.

"Jerry 'ad bombed the bloody 'ell out of the 'ole place; the pub and everything around it, pretty well flattened. They'd been in a shelter and got through it, though there were many who didn't. Neither of them 'ad any family left, none close, anyways, and nowhere to go, so they stayed at some of the temporary places set up for those who were in the same boat; they made a point to stay together; think they 'ad to really work at it to do that, but all they 'ad was each other by then. Seems one day the one in charge showed up with a young man saying 'e'd a message for them. Seems Caeide'd 'eard about the bombing in that area, and asked one of 'er brothers to try and find the two of them. Sent them word that she'd a place, safer than most probably, shelter, food, a place by the fire, and she'd welcome 'aving them with 'er, would be most pleased if they'd come, if they were of a mind to. Maude said the brother, 'e told them, Caeide really meant it, 'ad sent 'im special to find them, to bring them on if they were willing, so after they talked it over, they gathered what little they 'ad, just enough to put in one small bag for the both of them actually, and came on with 'im. Said it was a dreadful trip, cold, wet, and tiring, since Jerry 'ad bombed the railways, but they got 'ere, and never looked back."

"Was everything set up then, like it is now, the rooms and all, I mean?" Andrew asked.

"No, she'd just finished the building, and moved up from the old cottage, but there was only the one bedroom set up, the one she's in now, in addition to the big room downstairs and the kitchen and pantry and the like. The others were planned out, mind you, but not put together, not with walls and furniture and all, so they all three shared that one bedroom til they could get that done. Marisol said it didn't take too long, not with the three of them working at it. Said it was really odd, 'ow it all just seemed to flow together, them sitting at that table in the kitchen every day, decidin' who'd do what, tracing out the skills, talents each of them 'ad, seeing 'ow well it all fit together. Well, they were a right good team in London, as I remember, so I guess it all makes sense."

He chuckled and shook his head, remembering something he'd seen after he joined them, after he was well enough to come downstairs. Andrew looked over at him, questioningly.

"Maude says when they were deciding on 'ow to do the big room, that was back afore I came, when Caeide still 'ad the notion of making it look like a pub or an inn, just in case any outsiders wandered by and got too noisy, especially with it just being her here alone, Caeide'd placed that one round table off in the far corner away from the others, near the alcove, where it still sits to this day, and when Marisol suggested it seemed out of place there and might fit better near the door, Caeide'd said "No" and turned a rosy pink and wouldn't 'ear of moving it. Maude'd stood there, staring at that table, where it was, and gave one of those cackling laughs of 'ers, went and fetched a deck a'cards, ash tray, a pack of cigarettes and matches, a bottle of whiskey and glasses and set the table, just like it'd 'ave been set for one of those all night poker games I used to run outta 'er place. Seems that's where our table was then too, off in the far right corner of Maude's pub.Marisol said Caeide turned a bit red at that, but laughed a bit too, but Marisol said she thought there might 'ave been some tears in both their eyes by then, and Caeide agreed when Maude asked, "now, that's better; no sense in doing it 'alfways, is it now? Now it's all ready and waiting, just like we are." By then Marisol 'ad recognized what it was bout that table, and laughed too, and the subject of moving it never came up again."

He took the new cigarette Andrew handed him, inhaled deeply and handed it back, "felt a bit like coming 'ome, it did, when I saw that all set up and waiting, like." He shook his head again, remembering that feeling. "I asked them, you know, why, and the only answer I got was 'and why wouldn't it have been, Peter, it was just waiting for you to come 'ome; WE were waiting for you to come 'ome.'"

"Wow," Andrew murmured, "to think it was all there, just waiting. Funny, isn't it, how things work out?" he mused, taking another drag off the handed back cigarette.

"Whatta ya mean, Andrew?" Peter asked, curious as always about how Andrew's mind worked, remembering it often worked in strange and mysterious ways.

"Well, I mean, you knew things could be, probably would be a lot different when you got back to London, with all the bombing we'd heard about and the letters from your sister and all. I was pretty much expecting things to be the same as when I'd left, seeing as how the States didn't get hit that way, and I hadn't gotten the letter about my Mom and my cousin and everything. It's just kinda funny, how you found home, just like you remembered it, waiting for you, even if it was in a different place, and I found . . . Well, I found the same place, but it wasn't home anymore, it had all changed. Just seems funny, you know," he said, sadly, thoughtfully.

Peter looked down at the shorter man, at least at the shadowed figure he knew was Andrew, and reached out one arm to gather him into a warm hug. Resting his head against the other's, he said in a low, quiet voice, "you know, Andrew, I never thought of it quite like that. Bears some thinking on, now I 'ave."

And he did, remembering how he'd told the old ticket seller he was trying to 'get home', remembering too the familiar motherly scoldings and rough pampering he'd gotten from Maudie, the teasing and brisk sisterly affection Marisol had favored him with, and Caeide, well, she'd brought back memories of that year in London, the times she'd nursed him, sang to him, fussed over him, nagged at him, driving him to distraction as they all had, and never had he felt so aggravated, and, he now admitted to himself, never had he felt so welcomed, so loved, so cherished.

Andrew let him have his silence, not breaking into it, til Peter heaved a deep sigh, "well, tomorrow's going to be a busy day; we'd both better try and get some sleep, eh, Andrew?" and together they made their way back up the stairs to their beds.

Andrew burrowed down into his covers, thinking to himself, {'maybe, just maybe, that might have helped a little bit.'}


	2. Sometimes You've Just Got To Ask The Right Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just how do you make a decision when you don't seem to have all the pieces of the puzzle? When Peter realizes he's missing some vital part of the equation, he has to figure out just what questions to ask in order to get the answers he needs.

Conversation was sparse, luckily, since Peter found his attention drifting to his own reflections and memories, his recent conversations with Hogan, with Louie, and with Andrew. Hogan and his three mates moved into the front room, Hogan talking about using that far corner table for a game of cards, seeing how it was all set up and waiting, and wasn't that a bit of luck, and he nodded to them absently as they left. Maude and Marisol set about clearing the table, discussing what needed to be done tomorrow, apples needing picking, stock taken care of, eggs gathered, basket taken over to Reverend Miles, and more, of course, the work not stopping just because they had visitors. Finishing his tea and coming to a decision, knowing there was at least one more conversation that he needed to have, Peter pushed himself away from the table without comment and made his way to his own room. A quick shower, a change of clothes, a filling of his flask from the bottle in Caeide's room, where he also grabbed a couple of blankets, and he was back on his way down the hall toward the stairs.

Hogan was waiting, a welcoming grin on his face, a grin that wavered and disappeared as it became apparent Peter had not been coming to seek him out.

"What's going on? Thought we were all getting together."

Peter replied, "Just on me way over to the barn for the night, needed to get rid of the day's dust first." A pause.

"Why? She can handle anything over there, can't she? She did it long before you were here," Hogan said petulantly.

"Yes, she did, but it's part of what I do now, part of me job, one I'm bloody good at too," Peter responded patiently, his voice not nearly as warm as before. "See you in the morning, Robb. Say good night to the others for me, will you?"

He left the flask and blankets on the chair in the hall; in the kitchen, he handed the walkie talkie over to Marisol who accepted it with a challenging, quizzical look, as if asking whether he was intending to turn over even THAT bit of his job to someone else. Well, he figured he deserved that.

"No need to stay awake, but keep it close by; we'll let out a loud enough shout if we need anything," he told her, and she relaxed, smiled approvingly at him and nodded.

Peter walked over to Old Maude and whispered in a low urgent voice, "Maudie, I've got to get 'er talking to me, really talking, but where do I start?"

Maude looked up at the tall, lanky man she loved as dearly as a son, and shook her head - he COULD be so dense at times - but, at least he was asking, was perhaps thinking again, maybe even really thinking clearly about this, his relationship with Caeide, for the first time since he'd gotten back.

"First, dearie, you've got to get her to look at you, and for once, you can't turn away like you're used to doing. See what's in her eyes, in her face. You work so hard at it, you think she's not talking to you, and in fact, you just aren't listening, not wanting to hear what she's saying."

Peter shook his head and started to demand more of an explanation, but then he remembered what Louis had said on the porch, "Don't forget, mon amie, I've seen how she looks at you." {"How does she look at me? Does everyone see that except me? Do I really work THAT hard at NOT seeing?"} Peter asked himself wonderingly.

"Alright, I'll do that, but what next," he asked urgently.

Maudie grinned up at him, with more mischief than he could ever recall seeing in her wrinkled face, "why, start her talking about the old days, that year in London. In fact," with a chuckle, "best start by getting her to talk about the all night poker game."

He looked at Maudie in total bewilderment, {"maybe Maudie is starting to lose it, Caeide was never part of the all night poker games, cept for bringing coffee."} Though he did think was odd that only last night, during that conversation with Andrew on the porch, that he'd thought about those poker games, and the way that table was all set up in the big room next door, just waiting for him when he got back from the war.

"Peter," she said in exasperation, "trust me. Just do it!"

"Alright, alright, but she's likely to think I'm barmy, she is," he sighed as he walked out the door, shaking his head. Maude and Marisol exchanged a brief, hopeful glance at each other, and kept within earshot of the others in the next room, hoping to prevent anyone from following after those two while, maybe, just maybe, they could come to a better understanding of the truth between the two of them, a truth they'd danced around for far too long.

Caeide had settled her things in the area outside the box stall, placing the thermos of tea on a high shelf where it'd stay safe, moved the supplies she'd need for the birthing where they'd be convenient, should Molly's time come tonight, and sat down on a bale of hay to think and wait.

{"Funny, I've spent so many of these nights over the past years; I was never lonely. Now, after having Peter join me in the waiting over just the past few months, not having him here, I hope that's not something I'm going to have to get accustomed to; it won't be easy, that's for sure."}

She closed her eyes, letting her sense of desolation overwhelm her for just a moment; she felt him moving farther and farther away after Hogan's offer, though she didn't know if that moving was in Hogan's direction or just further into himself in reflection, and while she truly felt it would be a disasterous move on his part, she could easily see him deciding to follow the charismatic Hogan. She didn't know how to combat that, knew it had to be Peter's decision, but was truly angry at Hogan for once again being so totally self-serving, always having to have the winning hand, no matter who got hurt; always thinking what HE wanted just had to automatically be the best for everyone around him - no, not for everyone, just for the men who had formed his command crew, she admitted.

SHE knew, thought Peter knew as well, that physically he just wasn't up to what Hogan had in mind, all the derring-do; he had to take care even here or the lung infection would overwhelm him; his hands were sometimes capable of some part of what he once prided himself on, but just as often cramped and clawed to where he couldn't gracefully handle a knife and fork. Here, the depression was kept at bay, though it had been a struggle to get stabilized; here, he made a point of taking only one drink a day, unless in company that would keep a friendly but firm hand on the bottle. He'd not survive long out there; she knew that, she didn't see why Hogan couldn't see that. {"You'd have thought the memory of all the times in Germany when his overly complicated manipulations put them at risk, getting them hurt, would have made him more cautious , but apparently not."}

She was thinking of Peter so intently that when he silently moved into the room she didn't realize at first that he was really there. Only when he spoke did she realize he wasn't just a part of her reverie.

"All settled in then, luv?",he said quietly.

"Yes, but I didn't think you were coming down."

"It's what I do best, you know that; can't let the old girl down," he replied jokingly. "Just 'ad to get cleaned up, get some supplies of me own first" indicating the flask and blankets. Setting the blankets aside, he poured from the flask into two cups hanging from a hook on the wall.

{"Bourbon, from the smell of it; my drink of choice, his is Scotch. Wonder what that signifies? Maybe no more than that we're out of Scotch,"} she thought ruefully.

He walked over, and looked at her face while he handed over one of the cups. "Talk to me,"he demanded.

"What do you want to talk about," she smiled up at him; he wouldn't be able to see her eyes the way the shadows fell, she was free to let all the love she felt shine through.

{"Sweet Mother, it feels good, not hiding what I feel for him, if only for a moment! I've missed being able to do that since the others have been here! It's been hard enough having to hide it from him, but when there's others about, well that makes it just that much harder!".}

He walked over and turned the battery flash higher, and she schooled her face back to its former serenity.

"Talk to me about that year in London; those were some good times, as I remember," he said.

Her eyes gleamed softly, "yes, they were, barring the times I almost got killed, and the times you almost died, or the times you almost strangled me, but even those had some pluses, given they ended up all right," she chuckled.

As she shifted her gaze away, he reached out a finger and turned her face back to his, back toward the light, "no, LOOK at me, Caeide-luv, while you're talking to me. Tonight, you look straight at me, all the while."

Her eyes widened. That was unexpected; she'd spent the past months trying not to let her feelings show in her face, in her eyes, ever since it became apparent it was making him uncomfortable. When they came together at night now, it was good, always, but it was always in the dark; he wouldn't have even a lamp burning. The few times in the daylight, those were unexpected on either part, and only happened when he was totally offguard, nothing he planned, usually when adrenaline got the better of him, she thought, remembering the hay loft incident. Partly, she knew, he was uneasy about his scars, so many scars, but also she had come to see that he was afraid of revealing too much, even more afraid of perhaps seeing too much.

She'd gotten used to glancing at him and seeing him shift his eyes away so he didn't have to see, to acknowledge even the little bit that she couldn't keep from showing. Now he wanted to see, he wanted to know? Now? Well, why not? She might be losing him forever soon, maybe this little bit might be all they'd have, but if that's what he wanted, then alright, she'd show him everything he asked to see. He had the right, but she had no idea which direction it might weight his decision; knowing him, it could so easily go either way.

"Very well," she nodded seriously, taking a long steadying drink from her cup, (liquid courage, she thought), "but it's on your own head. Where do you want to start?"

"Tell me about the all night poker games," he demanded, settling back on his own bale of hay, facing her from about four feet away, sipping slowly at his own drink.

Her eyes grew big, "oh, my, what a place to start. How did you pick that one!" she said with a soft laugh. "Ah, let me guess. Maudie? Yes, that's worth telling, it truly is." And she know if it was truth he was after, this was exactly the place to start; {"could be more truth than he's prepared for, though,"} she grinned wryly. Peter looked at her, and the smile on her face, the look in her eye, started to make him slightly nervous.

She started slowly, voice calm and even, letting the story build, as she'd been taught to tell the traditional stories.

"It was two months into my internship. Maude had been up late the night before, well into the wee hours, and just getting over a nasty cold in the bargain, and I'd offered to get up and handle the expected 5 o'clock coffee for you and the lads, to start the breakup of one of those all night poker games you were so fond of. I almost overslept, couldn't figure out at first why I'd thought to get up so early, then remembered and dragged myself down to the kitchen. I made the coffee, had the pot and cups on a big tray and headed into the pub. I truly wasn't totally awake, I think, wasn't on guard, though I'd no reason to think I needed to be; it was just you and the lads, after all."

She gave a little laugh, shaking her head at her innocence. "Anyway, I came thru the doorway; you and Charlie, Davie, and Mike were all sprawled in your chairs around that big round table in the corner, chips and cards in front of you. The room, like always after one of your all nighters, was thick with smoke, and just lit with those lanterns on the wall; it was hot in the room, since you'd had to keep the shutters fastened and curtains drawn to keep the bobbies from sticking their noses in, what with the closing laws and all. Anyway, I walked in and you snarled at me, "well, about bleedin time, ain't it. 'bout to send Charlie back to the kitchen, even know'n what a lousy pot 'e puts together."

Her voice got slower, lower now, remembering. "The other lads were in shadow, or at least it seemed like it, but you, you were sitting there, clear as day, badly needing a shave, hair hanging over your forehead, top shirt gone, just that cutaway undershirt like you fancied. Your eyes were all at half mast from the smoke and no sleep, and your voice had that early morning whisky and cigarettes rasp to it, like you'd just fallen out of bed, and I froze, I just. . . froze. Then you sort of snapped at me, "any time in the next 'alf 'our or so, do ya think?"

"And I realized that I was standing stock still in the middle of the room, holding that blasted tray, staring at you and that I wasn't breathing, couldn't remember how to breathe. I was glad the room was so dark, and no one could see my face. My cheeks were burning; I remember being thankful that neither you, nor the lads, could read minds, because what I was thinking was NOT something I wanted anyone else to know. I poured the coffee, sat down the pot, and just about ran from the room, sat down at the kitchen table and just concentrated on breathing in, breathing out. Maude walked in, frowned, and asked what the problem was and I remember glaring up at her and telling her, "you didn't TELL me he was a bloody menace". She stood there looking at me, like I'd gone mad, walked over to the doorway, stared in, and came back to me, cackling like a hen. "Yes, I see, well, I think of him pretty much like a son; I forgot how you'd be likely to see him. Look, dearie, you can either spend the rest of the year avoiding him, or appreciating the view; it's your choice, but I know which way I'd decide." After thinking it over, I volunteered to take over the coffee-making for the allnight poker games for as long as I was there." She shook her head, laughing again, eyes drifting over his face, remembering. 

He was sitting there, shaking his head in amusement. "Why am I just 'earing about this now,?" he teased.

"Good grief, Peter, I was a child in your eyes. You'd been told, truthfully, that I was an adult, fully grown, that thirteen in my culture was more like eighteen or twenty in yours, but you weren't anywhere near able to accept that; think how you reacted when you saw me in that little black dress toward the end there. You all but ran from the room! You'd have probably panicked, WOULD have panicked if you'd known even half of what went thru my mind that year. You were very, uh, inspiring, you know," she said with a grin ('still are', she thought ruefully), biting her lower lip in reflection.

Picturing the scene in his mind, he wondered, did he dare? Feeling a bit like he was setting the detonator on one of Andrew's homemade explosives, he said in a low voice,"yes, well what exactly was going thru your mind that morning? I'd like to know, and, no, don't look away; I told you, you're to face me, look me in the eye tonight."

She stilled, feeling the warmth starting to build, {"can't even blame it on the bourbon, there's not been enough time for that"}, standing up, moving closer, swaying slightly as she moved.

"If you're sure?" and watched him nod. "I watched you, and I wanted the lads to just get up and leave, leaving you there alone with me. I wanted to move over, in front of you, like this, for you to stand," as she moved over to stand within arms reach, as he slowly came to his feet, eyes widening. "I wanted to reach out and brush your hair back from your forehead, smooth that sulky frown away with my fingers, trace the line of your lips, the arch of your cheek." She demonstrated by actually doing each of things, ever so gently, not hesitating over the long scar running along his cheekbone.

She moved even closer, and Peter swallowed convulsively. She was right, he thought, he would have right panicked if she'd done any of that, if he'd even had an inkling she was thinking anything of the sort. He was looking at her face, her eyes, and true to her word, her gaze never left his, except when it lovingly moved over his face.

He licked his lips, "and?" feeling his way slowly into her story, picturing the scene, the smoky pub forming around him, the woman-child that he remembered standing before him. She had a little half smile on her face and her breath was coming a little faster now, as was his. She reached up to unbutton and then remove his shirt very slowly, then reached up to pull his undershirt up over his head and dropped it to the ground. He let her do as she wished, afraid to move, half afraid of where she was headed, just as afraid now that she'd stop. With her right hand she trailed her fingers gently along the long line of his neck, down to his shoulder, then down his arm, and she trailed a lingering kiss the length of the jagged scar along his collar bone; he gulped; the air was getting thinner in here, for some reason, he thought. She brushed the side of her face across his chest, pausing to lick and suck gently at his nipples, to lap at the sweat trickling toward his stomach.

"THIS is what you were thinking, that morning?," he rasped, as he shivered.

With a sly smile, she admitted, "I'm not sure anymore what was from that morning, what was added at intervals throughout that year, and what's grown in my imagination in the time since. I have to admit, it's truly become one of my favorite fantasies."

He was breathlessly thinking that it could easily become one of his favorites as well, when her lids dropped slightly, and she moistened her lips; they were slightly parted now, swollen it seemed, as she reached out to stroke the back of her hand along the dark line of hair running down the center of his body to where it disappeared under the top of his trousers. He felt his whole body clench, as she ran just one finger down the cloth of his trousers, tracing his outline for his whole length, circling her finger over the tip of what was now fast becoming a full erection.

Sinking every so slowly to her knees, her remaining hand resting on his waist, sliding down onto his slim hip, still smiling, head tilted back, still looking him in the face, "I'm pretty sure, not positive you know, but pretty sure I'd not have had the nerve to do this, even in my fantasies that year," she breathed up at him, as she ran her cheek ever so slowly over the bulge directly in front of her. "Or this," reaching out to release him from the now much too-tight pants, repeating her movement of her cheek over his freed length. He was breathing rapidly now, watching her, not wanting her to stop, his mind caught up in the fantasy, in the reality. He shifted his weight moving his thighs slightly farther apart, wanting to strain toward her, but wanting her to continue this on her own terms even more. Her tongue slowly touched him underneath, at the base of his cock, gliding upward, and he inhaled sharply, letting out a tiny groan. She chuckled softly to herself, glancing upward again to catch a look at his face, intent, flushed, watching her every move.

This was not the first time she'd done this, of course, but before it had always been rather basic, usually in the dark or close to it, to afford him physical release, especially in those early days when he'd just come home and had been so lost there'd been no other way for him. Later, it was most often when she was acting as the surrogate for him, one of the two, bay rum aftershave or lime blossom. This was different; this was HER, no one else, on her knees before him. Everything she'd read, everything she'd imagined in pleasuring him this way, she put into practice now.

Finally, his legs couldn't hold him upright anymore, and he sank down on the end of one of the hay bales, hands braced behind him, head arched back; she continued, increasing the scope, the intensity, listening to the sounds he was making, to the way he was gasping for breath. She paused and leaned away, smiling at the picture he made, knowing that, whatever happened, she'd remember this forever, then stood and leaned over him, pressing him to lay backwards onto the hay, tracing his open mouth with her fingers, and then leaning in to kiss him, deep, licking at him, drawing his tongue into her mouth, gliding her own into his.

"Taste yourself, love, sweeter than honey you are," she murmured, and he licked eagerly at her lips and groaned, shuddering underneath her body. She pulled back, knelt down again taking him into her mouth once more, sucking him deep, deeper, til she could feel the tip sliding down her throat. Again, again, til with a husky cry, he poured himself into her mouth, again, again, til he lay spent, quivering, pale skin glowing in the light of the battery flash. She pressed her thighs together, once, twice, again, watching him, she was so close she needed nothing more, then with a soft cry and a shudder, sank to her knees beside him, laying one hand and her head on his heaving chest.

When she could breathe more evenly again, she asked, in a quick, bright, eager young voice, that voice she'd assumed during most of her internship in London, "what do you want to talk about now, Peter?" and lay there grinning to herself, as he started laughing, laughing as if he'd never stop.

{"Lord bless Maudie, and Lord bless Andrew, yes, and Louie as well!"} was all he could think for quite awhile. Then he remembered, and looked down at her, grinning broadly, just enough breath left to gasp, "ONE of your favorite fantasies; just how many others are there?".

As they dozed, bundled in the blankets he'd brought with him, Mollie seemingly changed her mind, he thought, {"'er fantasies, my fantasies, shouldn't wonder but what Andrew don't 'ave a good few of 'is own, all added to the solid reality 'ere at 'aven. I can settle for that,"} and he smiled contentedly; he knew he'd be letting Hogan leave alone, and he was good with that. You might not be able to have everything, he knew, but it seemed he'd be ending up with his goodly share and more.


	3. The Lines Are Drawn, The Die is Cast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The lines are firmly drawn; now it's just up to Peter to decide which side to choose. Somehow he's not finding it nearly as difficult as he had once imagined it would be. Still, he'd like to have this go as peacefully as possible, though he's not getting his hopes up, neither Hogan nor Caeide being particularly mild-tempered when aroused. The guys, the ladies of Haven, are watching with a wide-variety of emotions: trepidation, hope, dismay, worry, but know this had to be Peter's decision. And after that decision is made, will the loser in the conflict be able to sway Peter to reconsidering? Just in case, Andrew makes a decision of his own, gaining Maudie's promise, "just in case". Because, no matter what Peter decided, life still had to go on.

.  
He was waiting for her when she came back from the orchard, by the entrance to the horse barn, out of sight of the porch, visible to her only when she drew the now-empty cart up to the entrance, having unloaded the filled baskets onto the porch, now ready to unhitch the chestnut mare who'd so patiently pulled the load. She groaned; she was not looking forward to this.

She was hot, sweaty, tired, and rumpled, definitely not at her best. She'd gotten little sleep last night, {"though for the very best of reasons,"} she thought, smiling to herself at the memory of pleasure given, pleasure shared. In addition, she had awakened with the start of a headache, one she'd named 'Hogan', with a tiny laugh, remembering that adder she'd given a similar name, and it had only grown in the past two hours.

He, well, he was sharp and crisp and well pulled together, of course; unlike the other men, he'd not lifted a hand since he got here, except for playing cards, eating, drinking, talking to the guys, and pulling Peter off for some private time. Yet, here he was, and it appeared the time would be now, whether she wanted it that way or not.

He was smoking, and threw down his cigarette when he saw her.

She frowned, "would you please pick that up and put it in your pocket, or in the tin on the wall over there? We've too much that could catch fire here to be that careless." Not the most diplomatic way to start a conversation, but even a spark could set off a blaze in moments, and his actions were not acceptable. When he only gave her a snort, she quickly stepped down from the seat, moved forward, bent down and grabbed the cigarette butt, crushed it between her fingers and put it in the tin.

"You are careless, General, careless with things that matter, careless of the harm you can cause," and they both knew she wasn't talking just about the cigarette. She'd known this confrontation would be coming, and saw no reason to pull her punches.

Hogan just looked at her, a sneer of contempt on his handsome face, "three years, lady, three years, day and night I've lived beside him. I know every scar on his body, I've touched every inch of him," he chuckled, "I've known him in every way possible. Shall I tell you just how many ways that is, Caeide? Do you even have an idea?"

He paused to smile knowingly, and give a small chuckle, and proceeded to explain, in some detail, that of what he thought she had no knowledge, thinking to shock her, to fill her with disgust.

"With just a glance, with just a touch, I can have him aching for me; I've proved that here, upstairs in that bedroom. And you think you can change that? You think you can compete with that? You think you can keep him here, now that he's known that again, now that he's remembered?"

He shook his head, giving a harsh laugh, "he needed a place to rest, to heal; fine, you gave him that; I'm sure he's grateful." And he gave that word a twist of contempt she'd not heard associated with that word before. "But don't mistake gratitude for anything else, for something he'll never be able to give you. Don't mistake nostalgia for that 'year in London' for anything other than it is, fond memories of when he was in his prime, in his glory."

"Maybe I don't take him with me now, but that'll be my decision to make. He's mine, he always will be; he'll come to me whenever I call him to me, as soon as I snap my fingers. What do you have to offer? This godforsaken place, away from everything that matters, everything that's important? The work he was doing, we were doing was important; that work still needs to be done. And you think to, what, turn him into a farmer? A sheep herder? With his skills and his talents, you intend for him to waste himself out here?? I hear the locals don't care much for him; you think you and those two women in there are enough for him? I don't think so."

He paused in his low pitched tirade to look at her, up and down, and she was again very aware at how disheveled she was, and then he snorted. "And as for you . . ." and shook his head in contempt. "If he was looking for a mother, like Carter is, well, maybe. But Peter doesn't need a mother, and you don't really have much else to offer, do you, other than that overly solicitious, nursemaid of a mother image you have going on; after all, that innocent little girl routine is a bit past you now. So lets just go with that. You and those two in there, you keep Carter, you baby him, mother him to your hearts content, turn him into even more of a child than he already is. I'll take Peter with me, though; back to where he belongs, back to where he can be a man again."

Hogan stopped, waited, waited while she just looked at him, studying him, trying to understand him. "Nothing to say?" with a rude noise.

A shrug of one shoulder, and a deep sigh, accompanied by a prolonged shaking of her head, "what can I say, General? Except - you say I, we, this place, we can offer him nothing. I don't agree. I think we can and do offer him much, things of value, important things. You say here, he is, what, less than a man? I don't agree, will NEVER agree; Peter is every inch a man; would be wherever he is, whatever he is doing. Andrew? Andrew is no child, but a man, a person with skills and talents of his own, value of his own, skills, by the way, you were more than happy to use when you needed them."

And she was losing control of her anger now, her voice raising just a little bit, her pulse pounding.

"But do you know what I found interesting about your little speech? Nowhere did you speak of caring for Peter, loving him. Of wanting him to be happy, of wanting him to thrive, of wanting him to be safe, or healthy, or anything like that. Nowhere did you speak of how you searched so diligently for him after the camp, for the others, wanting to be sure they were safe, wanting to be sure they were being cared for, doing well, wanting to HELP make that so. I heard nothing of that! I SAW nothing of that!"

"But beyond all that, General, beyond what you want, what I want - neither Peter or Andrew are possessions, for us to trade back and forth. They are individuals, men, who have the right to decide for themselves what kind of lives they want to live, what is important to them at this, and at all other stages of their lives. They've lived through hell, as did all the men in those camps; they sacrificed so very much to do the impossibly demanding job that was set to them. They served you well, but you don't own them; if you ask them to join you and they choose to come with you freely, to serve you again, that is their choice; but it is not for you to decide what their lives are to be. Nor is it for me to decide, not even with as much as I care for each of them. It is their choice!"

And with a disgusted shake of her head, she ducked around him, took the mare by the halter and led her into the darkened stable, Hogan having to move back quickly to avoid being stepped on by the mare, who didn't seem impressed by him either, or hit by the cart. She heard him move off, cursing as he received a fast swish of the long tail in his face, and she had to give a tiny approving pat to the mare for that bit of indignity.

She rubbed her forehead, the headache that had started when she woke up, grown under the heat in the orchard, was now building to a crescendo with the rise of her temper, her anger. Leaning up against the mare, holding her forehead against that strong jaw, she wanted to weep, indeed felt the tears come to her eyes.

"Charming, absolutely bloody charming," she heard that so familiar voice drawl out, and whirled around, almost losing her balance in her dizziness.

"How long . . .?"

"Oh, quite long enough, I'd say." He frowned, taking in her pale face, the tense look, "Caeide, are you alright?" He moved closer, taking in the film of sweat on her brow, the slight squint to her eyes, and nodded, knowingly, "ah, that 'eadache you started with this morning, settled in right good, 'as it? Well, can't imagine that outside made it any better," and pulled her gently forward to lean against him, his clever fingers massaging at the back of her neck, knowing just the right spots to bring her relief.

She sighed, arching her neck in response, "I hadn't intended you hear any of that, you know; I didn't know you were in here," she muttered against his shirtfront, it absorbing those first few tears she really didn't want him to see. She hated to think how much all that must have stung, not only on his own behalf, but for Andrew as well.

"Well, I bloody well know 'e didn't intend for me to 'ear that, nor Andrew either, I'd guess; though to think on it, don't know 'e'd care all that much about what Andrew 'eard, would 'e, from what 'e was sayin'. Bloody pieces on a chess board, that's what we are, I'm guessing, and 'e's fancying 'imself the bleedin' chess master."

He pulled her toward the tack room, urged her to sit down on the cot kept in there, leaning back against the wall. "Stay there, I'll take care of the mare and be right back." He moved away into the adjoining area. "You still planning to take that basket over to the Reverend afore lunch? I brought it down with me, thinking to save you a trip to the 'ouse. You sure you're up to it?" he asked, his voice raised to carry from the stalls, knowing better than to assume she'd give in to the headache, or to Hogan either, and he gave a silent snort at the very thought. She'd promised that basket to the Reverend today, and he knew his Caeide, the Reverend would GET that basket today. He remembered thinking back in camp when those letters of hers arrived after being held up for so long he'd thought she'd forgotten him, written him off as a lost cause, then realizing she'd written every two weeks, as always - 'without fail' - yes, that was his Caeide, alright.

"I might as well, some of it won't hold til tomorrow, not and still be fresh. I'll ride Henry, though, he'd be better for some exercise, he's getting fussy with the lack, and I'll just strap the basket on back, he doesn't mind that, and that should kick up less dust than the cart, which will be better for my head," by 'Henry', referring to the chestnut gelding in the pasture.

Silence, then "well, while you're doing that, think I might just let the General know my decision, don't you think? It might go better, well, not better so much, that's asking a bit much, might be less explosive if you're least-in-sight during the telling." He was walking back into the tack room, and she didn't answer, just looked at his face, silently asking the question in her mind, the question that her whole happiness, maybe her whole existence seemed to hinge upon, though she knew he'd probably scoff at that idea.

A wry smile came across that expressive visage, knowing what was going thorugh her mind. "Yes, Caeide-luv, I'm sure. Was quite sure even before that lovely little bit from 'im outside just now," and the smile started to fade as he remembered the things Hogan had taken such delight in telling her, trying to hurt her with.

And then that fading smile changed to a rather sly grin, "sides, being 'somewhat less than a man', and 'much in need of mothering', seems to be the best decision, don't you think? Pity, though, bout my talents and skills not being useful 'ere, eh?"

He looked at her, and his eyes changed just a bit too. He licked his lips, stepped closer, and taking her hand pulled her up from the cot and over and down into the loose straw in the corner. Opening her blouse with one nimble set of talented fingers, the other skillful set stroking her bottom encased in the long, full skirt, "seems a bit of mothering might go down well right now, matter of fact," and she gasped as his warm breath, then eager lips and warm tongue teased over the tip of her breast. His hand, now freed from that responsibility, decided to go wandering over the front of her skirt, warming her and making her shudder and moan, with which he gave a delighted, though somewhat muffled, little laugh, and let that hand move upward under the skirt, which he'd now hiked to her upper thighs.

His hands busy, his mouth busy, she thought she'd better take on some of the responsibility here; she though it only right, after all, they did try to share all the chores, they did; she reached down to undo his trousers and free him, taking time to show him her own fingers weren't totally lacking in dexterity. He was reminded of that slow ripple of the fingers that Marya had used back in camp, though Marya had been stroking open air, while Caeide, well, wasn't.

"Peter, do you think . . ." and Peter gave a loud groan, dropping his forehead to lean against hers, and Caeide shook her head and gave a low, rueful laugh.

He leaned back, turning his head toward the open doorway, "Andrew, this is not the time for a chat," he managed to call out. The footsteps kept approaching the doorway, and Andrew's earnest face appeared.

"Yes, but I was just going to ask . . . Uh. . . Oh . . . Oh, boy! . . . Wow! . . .I guess it can wait," and they laughed together, soft and low at the sound of the rapidly retreating footsteps accompanied by a quick and gleeful snicker. They heard, "Louie, I think we'll have to ask him later, he's kinda busy right now." Then a brief whisper or two, a different voice giving a snicker of its own, and blissful quiet.

"We really need to get a lock for that door, you know," he sighed. "Oh, well, now where were we? Oh, yes, . . ."

Carter and LeBeau were still snickering and laughing when they approached the wide porch with the comfortable chairs and tables. They stopped at the sight of Kinch sitting there, smoking a cigarette, glass of whiskey in his hand, staring at them. LeBeau frowned over at Carter; they both knew Kinch smoked sometimes, but rarely drank, and never at mid-morning!

"Something is wrong, mon amie?" LeBeau asked cautiously. The look on Kinch's face was . . . wrong, that was the only word LeBeau could think of. If they had been back at the camp, he would have figured bad news, really bad news was coming.

"Guys, let's take a walk," Kinch said, getting up from the chair with a deep sigh, stubbing out the cigarette in the ash tray, setting the empty glass down on the arm of the chair, and motioning them along the path toward the kitchen garden; from here he could see there was no one in sight, and he knew there were a couple of benches on the far side, from which he'd be able to see if anyone approached. His two friends exchanged puzzled glances, but nodded and joined him. There was silence along the path, silence after they seated themselves.

Carter started to pull out a cigarette, but flushed as he remembered he'd been told no one smoked in this area, that the nicotine in the cigarettes could spread disease to some of the vegetables; Peter and the others even washed their hands before they worked in this area. When the others reached for their own packs, he stopped them, explained, and they dropped the packs back into their shirts.

"See, guys, that's where we're different," Kinch said with a harsh bark of a laugh that wasn't a laugh. They looked at him inquiringly. "The General, now he'd have just pulled out a smoke anyway."

That surprised them, they hadn't been discussing the General, and they didn't usually criticize him either, though the exceptions to that had been cropping up more frequently in recent days.

He sighed again, "I'd been gathering some eggs for Maude, saw Caeide pull up, drop off those baskets of apples, and head for the horse barn. Thought I'd maybe give her a hand." He stopped, rubbed his forehead with a heavy hand.

"Peter and Caeide are at the horse barn now," Carter chimed up, "but" with a giggle "I don't think they want to be disturbed, well, anymore than I already did," the giggle turning into a snicker, accompanied by an expression approaching an elfin leer.

Kinch gave a bit of a grin at that, "Are they? And did you? No, this was a bit earlier, I guess, but couldn't have been by much, she just got back maybe twenty minutes ago. Guys, . . ." and he proceeded to tell what he'd seen and heard, not sparing anything that was said, not by either party, no matter how difficult it was to tell, no matter how difficult it was to hear.

Carter was lost in his own thoughts, {"so Peter isn't a man anymore; so I'm a child, not a man, never WAS a man in his eyes, on all those missions, during all that time. If that's what he thinks, can't imagine what good either of us would be to him. Course, wasn't me he asked to come with him, it was just Peter, but even so. And she's right, Kinch didn't say the Colonel said anything about loving, or caring, or wanting what's best for Peter."}

He became conscious of LeBeau cursing; well, he supposed it was cursing, it was in French, but it certainly sounded as if it would be cursing. He gave a little snicker, surprising his two friends, who had thought he would have been hurt beyond words at what Hogan had said.

He looked at them, "guys, I kinda figure Peter had already made his mind up to stay, but . . . If YOU heard the conversation between Caeide and Hogan outside the horse barn just when you said you did, and if I found Peter and Caeide INSIDE the horse barn, in the middle of, well, horsing around!" gathering a couple of chuckles and grins from his friends, "I'd say the odds of PETER hearing that conversation are pretty doggone good! And I bet LeBeau can tickle that information, not all, just enough to confirm that, out of Peter when he comes back inside. If it turns out he didn't hear, then I vote we tell him; if he DID, well, I'd say the Colonel's chances just dropped to zero, if not below. Whadda you think?" LeBeau and Kinch nodded, looking at each other and then back to Carter with increasingly broad smiles. Sometimes, Carter showed he was a lot smarter than he sometimes acted, Kinch thought to himself. 

But as it was, LeBeau never got the chance to talk to Peter, to see what he had overheard. Andrew had to run and help Marisol like he'd promised to do. LeBeau and Kinch headed back to the house, and by the time they got there, things were already astir. Peter had called up Henry, got him saddled and ready, strapped the basket up behind and watched as she rode out to drop off the supplies and treats to Reverend Miles. Once back inside, he approached Hogan, suggested a sit-down. Hogan had urged that conversation be done in his room upstairs, but Peter just smiled and shook his head.

"No, 'ere's just fine," settling down at the big table, pouring a couple of shots of whiskey into the waiting glasses, leaned back in his chair and waited. With a smug smile, Hogan followed and settled down with a thump.

"Alright, let's talk out the details; now first, when we get back to Germany . . ."

"Yes, well, about that, General, . . ."

 

"What do you mean, you aren't interested? You can't mean that! What, you're going to spend your life here, in the middle of nowhere? Doing what?" Hogan's tirade was loud; the others could hear it throughout the big house. Peter had made sure to tell Hogan downstairs, sitting at the big table near the alcove; it gave them some privacy, but not seclusion, and that table had special significance for Peter, something he thought would help bolster his determination to make this decision to his OWN best interests. Like Louie had said, it was HIS life, something perhaps he'd been apt to forget a time or two.

Louie and Kinch, in the kitchen drinking coffee, looked in each in apprehension; they had discussed in the privacy of Louie's room the possibility of Peter leaving Haven, following Hogan, and neither had felt good about that, not at all.

"Louie, I just don't see how the Army would let it happen. I mean, first, Peter was British RAF, only a corporal, and from what I understand, he never actually was discharged; he's probably still listed as missing or AWOL. He's got a record. He's smart enough, we know that, that's not the question; he could figure out all the military rigmarole, but there'd always be some hotshot trying to show him up, and you know his temper, that smart mouth. And, you know what Hogan intends; the first time someone figures THAT out, Peter is gone. They'll probably just give Hogan a wink and a finger shake, put the blame on Peter, but Peter will be out, there's no doubt. Then what? You know him, his stubbornness, his pride. If he leaves Caeide to follow Hogan, he'll never come back here. Then what?" Kinch asked in frustration.

"Oui, I know. And with all that, although he is looking better than I have ever seen him, his health is not good, may never be really good again, he was in that camp too long, longer than any of us, was in the hands of the Gestapo more than any of us, too. You know how ill he could become, how quickly, how long and how hard each recovery could be. You saw how the depression was always just a step or two away. Here, he has been able to heal, the depression seems to be easier fought; here, he has support. Out there, with Hogan, well, you know the Colonel; Pierre would be the one to have to GIVE the support, not be the one receiving it. And Kinch? Pierre was not meant to be alone."

His voice got very low, "Kinch, I don't think he can survive alone, and that's where he would end up, I fear. Caeide would always welcome him back, but you saw what it took for him to come to her in the first place; like you, I think if he leaves here, he will not allow himself to come back. And I think it will destroy him, and I am not sure but it won't destroy her as well."

Thinking of Andrew, of what he now knew, Louie thought there was at least one more life that would be destroyed, though he didn't mention that to Kinch. They sat, they smoked another cigarette together, but they knew it would have to be Peter's decision.

They had each, separately, voiced their doubt, not loudly, not in detail, just a few words to Hogan in private, only to be brushed off with a laugh and a "since when don't you trust me to know what I'm doing?"

LeBeau thought, after that conversation, {"I remember too many times when what you thought was best turned out not to be so, mon colonel. The only one who thought you could not fail was YOU; and only the fact that you did sometimes fail would remind you of that, nothing that WE could say, and you would forget that lesson very quickly."}

Kinch had just sighed and turned away; he knew Hogan wouldn't listen.

Neither of them had discussed their doubts with Carter; they still saw him as a little brother, clumsy, slightly goofy at times, and although they had never doubted his courage or his resourcefulness or his skill with his explosives, this was just not something they even considered bringing him into. They knew he and Newkirk were extremely close; they'd seen the mutual comfort given and shared, and while LeBeau had wondered on more than one occasion if there wasn't a depth of feeling beyond that of brotherhood, he had discounted it, with that innocence shining from Carter's eyes, and Kinch had never even considered it.

In any event, they would have thought it impossible because of the Colonel. They had both known about the Colonel and Peter, of course, though it was not discussed; they'd seen the closeness, the interaction, the frequent touch; they had seen the jealousy and possessiveness on Hogan's part; they'd all been present when Hogan, out of that jealousy, had made the mistake of extending that touch not only to Caeide's sister, but to Garrison, inciting the wrath of the small Englishman on Garrison's team.

Then, a couple of days after the offer, Carter had brought up the subject, not in his usual chattering, rambling style, but a simple, "do you think he'd really consider it, guys? I'd hate to see that happen; even if it all works, and I don't think it would, I don't think he'd be as happy as he is here," a worried frown creasing his forehead.

Andrew hadn't mentioned the invitation he'd received from Peter, from Haven, and he didn't know if Peter had mentioned it to them either; he had been considering it, seriously, but he didn't feel he could make a decision til he knew what Peter had in mind to do about Hogan, didn't think that offer would be any good if Peter decided to leave. Yet, to his wonder and amazement, after Hogan's bombshell, Caeide had sat Andrew down, on a bale of hay in the horse barn, to tell him that the invitation stood firm; that they all wanted him to come to Haven, if he wanted to, of course; that they all understood that the situation with Hogan made things more complicated, but that they wanted him to know that their invitation to HIM, to Andrew, Haven's invitation, well, that hadn't changed, wouldn't change, no matter what Peter might decide; that she'd already talked to the Clan about that, and they agreed, they'd promised! And that, perhaps, had told him more than she had intended to tell him, and he saw and understood the enormity of her obtaining that promise, the knowledge that she might not be able to fulfil it herself. And he saw the pure misery in her eyes as she considered that decision, the possibility of Peter leaving here, the fate that could await him in Hogan's train, a fate he'd already considered, a fate he now knew she saw just as clearly.

That's when he knew he had to do what little he could to protect what Peter had here; to protect him as he'd been unable to protect him before, and in doing that, protect these three women who had welcomed him with such kindness. He'd hoped his reminiscing with Peter on the back porch that night had maybe helped just a little bit, and maybe it had.

Now, after the night in the big barn with Caeide, Peter had seemingly come to a decision, a decision in favor of Haven and all it offered, and Hogan was livid. Andrew could hear the shouting as he came in from feeding the poultry with Marisol; he felt the woman stiffen at his side as they came up the steps.

"Peter never responded so well to someone yelling at 'im; 'opefully that's still the case. Well, once in a while Caeide could get by with it, when all else failed, but not as a rule. Maybe that man's overstepped 'imself for once," she said forcefully, then realizing the young man beside had a connection to Hogan, might have a very different outlook on all this, turned apprehensively to look at him for his reaction to her strong words. She was relieved to see his pursed lips and firm nod in agreement.

"Boy, I sure hope so. But you're right, all the yelling might be a good thing; it might not be a bad thing for Peter to see how selfish Hogan can be; how much he cares about what HE wants, more than anything else," and Marisol raised her eyebrows at this; she hadn't thought the other team members could see Hogan quite so clearly; now, she had to wonder.

Andrew gave her a wry twist of the lips, not a smile, certainly. "What you need in a leader in wartime, in the kind of work we were doing? Well, that's maybe not what you need in other times. Coura wrote in one of her letters that 'the boss bird', the 'big brown eagle', that was what she called Hogan, was smart in a sneaky kind of way which was probably a good thing in a boss bird, she meant in that kind of situation, but maybe not so much in someone else or in a different situation. I think she was right. We're not under his command anymore, we aren't fighting the Germans anymore; I know I don't want to be back under his control anymore, and I don't want any of the others to be, either. You know, he's talking about continuing that, maybe in Berlin, against the holdouts, maybe against the Communists. How long would Peter last before Hogan uses him up, lets him get sick again, gets him hurt, . . .gets him killed?" and Marisol's eyes grew wide, at this additional insight. They looked at each other, in understanding, and with a sigh, walked into the house, and into the turmoil within.

Maude heard the raised voice easily from the stillroom, located as it was in the room next to the alcove. If she strained, she could even hear Peter's more level voice, firmly citing his appreciation for the offer, but equally as firm in his refusal, in his decision to remain at Haven. She had given a deep sigh of relief at that, and at the flat-out stubborn tone of his voice; she knew that tone, little could sway him once he reached that point; she knew that from her attempts through the years to do just that.

She had no doubts, leaving with Hogan would be the ruination of the lad; it wasn't even, as she had thought perhaps in the beginning, that it would just be one more tragic instance of an irregular love being pitted against the harsh realities and prejudices of the world. No, she now increasingly wasn't even sure Hogan really loved Peter, more he thought he had a right to him, had a right to anyone and anything he took a fancy to.

No, she now firmly felt Peter belonged here; he might have some lingering wistful thoughts about Hogan, but she thought the love he received from Caeide, from Marisol and Maude would weigh well against that; add in the brotherly love from Louie and Kinch, the companionship of Reverend Miles, the love of young Andrew in whatever complexity that might bring, and his life could be full and rich, if he would just let it be, maybe richer than most.

She did worry, however, about what steps Hogan might take, just out of spite, and resolved to discuss that with the others, no matter how much Peter might not like to hear such. Well, they'd think on that, long and hard, once the argument was done in the other room.

Marisol and Andrew joined Kinch and Louie at the table, coffee pot put on again for the next round. Caeide hadn't returned from taking supplies to old Reverend Miles at the church, though she was due at any time. Maude had just come in from the stillroom when the increasingly loud voices came to a halt with a crash and sound of shattering glass. They all rushed into the big room to see Peter, standing, staring in open mouthed disbelief at the remains of the whiskey bottle and the overturned table, its contents scattered wide, and Hogan standing there, fists clenched, face drawn tight in its anger.

There was silence, til Maude spoke up, in a harsh, clear voice, "it seems you've forgotten you're a guest in this 'ouse, General!"

Hogan whirled around to the older woman, clearly intending to let his anger spread to her at her chiding, only to see the faces on the others, some cold with anger, some shocked and incredulous at his behavior. He quickly regained control of himself, brought out the charm, trying to salvage the situation. No one called him on it, but it was obvious it wasn't having its desired effect. He made his apologies, left and went back to the room assigned to him upstairs.

Everyone noted he made no offer to help clean up the mess, which was considerable - broken glass and spilled whiskey, soaked rug, scattered glasses and ash trays, some of those cracked, playing cards everywhere.

"Mari, Louie, would you mind going to spend some time in the library and the office upstairs? Leave the doors open so you can 'ear if he comes through to the family side, I don't want 'im wandering anywhere except 'is own room; give us a call if 'e tries," Peter said quickly, surprising the others with so quickly coming to the same conclusion they'd come to, that a confined Hogan was better than one free to browse where he shouldn't.

"In fact," Maude interjected, "let's latch that door into the family side; Mari, you know where it is. Let's just keep it closed, latched or locked til he leaves. He hasn't your skill with locks, does he?"

Peter shook his head, "no, don't think 'e ever got the 'ang of it, and that latch, it's something a bit special, doubt 'e'll see too quickly 'ow to open it, but we'll keep a close eye out, just to be sure. And that's wherever 'e is, we can't let 'im go roaming alone, not for a bit from now on, and I don't want 'im in contact with any of the locals; don't think that'd 'appen, but lets make sure of it. 'e's a bit careless with his cigarettes, if nothing else, and we can't risk a fire. Probably no need, but, still . . ." That last, if nothing else, was a woefully condemnation of the man who'd just left them.

They were still cleaning up the mess when Caeide strode in, stopping in amazement at the flurry of activity, the overwhelming smell of whiskey, the large wet stain on the woolen rug, and the tight looks on everyone's face.

"Should I ask?" she said cautiously.

"Seems the General 'as a bit of a temper," Maude answered her, as the others tried to avoid her eyes.

She looked around, and at them all, and just nodded, "it would appear so! I'm going to clean up and change and make notes about the delivery and the orchard pickings, unless you need my help?" At their assorted denials, "I'll be back down by lunchtime," and she turned to make her way up the stairs.

Peter called after her, in a casual voice, "Caeide, you'll find the connecting door latched; best keep it that way for now, alright?" and she turned to look down at him, her eyes wide with surprise, then passing into a knowing look.

"That I'll do, love. Care to join me, or are you too involved there?" she asked in an equally casual voice, and he said, "wait right there, I'll be with you in a trice," and going to set his box of broken pieces on the chair by the kitchen door, he nodded to the others and went up the stairs to join her halfway up.

Mari and Louie heard the door click and start to open and were in the hallway when the pocket door had fully retracted, their decidedly cold and unwelcoming faces shifting to welcoming smiles when they saw who had come through. The received 'thank you' and nods were returned with more smiles, and two made their way back down stairs, two making their way into the office, after latching and locking the door separating the two parts of the living quarters. With a shake of her head, Caeide even set the alarm, which hadn't been set since the early days when the building had been first completed and she was living here alone.

"So, I see it went well," she said turning to him with a slight smile, and he gave an abrupt chuckle, "about as well as expected, though with rather more breakage than I'd planned for. We're down a decent bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses, at least, and there's a table leg that'll need mending I think! Think 'e even surprised 'imself; usually 'e 'as more control than that." They'd determined to have Caeide away from the house during that conversation, thinking it might keep things less explosive; well, if that'd worked, he'd hate to see what Hogan's reaction would've been with her here!

He frowned at her, worry evident in his expressive face, "I think we can expect trouble from 'im, of various sorts."

She nodded in return, "well, we'd rather thought we might. We'll have to discuss just what that might mean, how we protect against his attempts. And we'll have to discuss how we mean to carry on til he leaves tomorrow. I'd say have Ian pick him up earlier, but I don't know if that would serve or not, or if Ian is even in a position to do so."

But then she gave him a warm, slightly sad and knowing smile, "but in the meantime, Peter," and she moved close, to touch his cheek, to lay her head on his chest, offering what she could in the way of comfort, having some idea of the pain he was feeling. He heaved a deep sigh of relief, finally letting the tension from the encounter below come to the surface, settle and dissipate. His head bent over, his hand tilted her head upward, his lips moved over hers, softly, then harder, and hers opened under his.

"I was going to get a shower," she said faintly, to have him shake his head, "seems a waste, really, we'll both need another one afore too long now, won't we," and she let him pull her into his arms, and together they moved into her bedroom. Now urgently they worked at each others clothes, even more urgently moving to settle next to each other on the welcoming softness of the covers. They vaguely heard the faint knocking, then voices at the pocket door, then silence again, all of it in the background, not something they even registered fully til they headed in for their shower before going back downstairs. He tilted his head at her, moving back just a bit, letting the water flow more evenly over both of them; "did I hear someone, earlier?"

"I thought I did, but whoever didn't continue, and you know if they'd really needed us, Maude and Mari know how to work that latch, and there's even that tiny back stairs, from the stillroom, that none of the guests know about," she reassured him, and he nodded. They both guessed who'd been doing the knocking, and thought the voices had been Kinch and Louie; well, they'd probably hear about it downstairs.

Somehow, in the midst and between of the loving and the lazing and the shower, they'd decided to let the prior departure arrangements stand; to change them now would even more awkwardness and possibly increase Hogan's anger; to leave them, hopefully would do no harm, as long as they were cautious, remained on guard against any mischief.

One thing she had to say, hoping he'd not take it amiss, but she loved him too much to do otherwise. "Peter, if you do decide on some last private time with him, please remember - he is most likely still very, very angry, even if he pretends not to be?" She didn't say more, but the look of concern in her eyes made him think, and he remembered the incident with that snake and her concerns that followed, and he understood. He remembered too, just as she did from what her Warrior had shared with her inadvertently, at least one instance where Hogan's anger had led to, well, far more pain than pleasure, at least on HIS part.

"Don't intend to let things take that direction, luv, but I'll keep it in mind, I promise."

Somehow, after the scene downstairs, he was re-thinking his anger at her naming that snake 'Robb'; later, when he'd been able to think more clearly, willing to talk about it, she'd told him it had just been something about those eyes, that he'd just looked like a Robb, and, as he chuckled to himself, remembering the cold fury in Hogan's face downstairs, he could now rather see that. She looked at him in question, and he just grinned and shook his head, "just a stray thought; I'll tell you some other time."

She turned back into the stream of water, and he looked down at her. He shook his head in wonderment, that she'd not said he couldn't take that last private time, or even shouldn't take that time, nor that she didn't want him to do so, or that he WOULDN'T take that time if he truly cared for her; she only asked that he be cautious that he not be hurt. Maybe, someday, he'd understand her, but he rather doubted it! He dropped a last kiss to the top of her head, before opening the door to dry off and get dressed again.

He couldn't believe it! First, Peter had turned away from him to spend the night with that woman! In a barn, no less! Then, he'd turned down Hogan's offer, totally, completely, with no hesitation in his face or in his voice. That in itself was unbelievable, but then, when he'd started down the hall to Peter's room to try and talk some sense to him, see what nonsense that woman had poured into his head, what she'd told him about their conversation, in order to convince him she'd been exaggerating, even flat out lying, there was a door he'd not even realized existed blocking his way. It didn't move to his push or pull; no one responded to his knock, and before he could try for long, Kinch and Louie had been there, actually insisting he give it up and go back to his own room. His own men!

He'd turned away, and they'd followed, had tried to convince him to let it be, Peter had made his decision, and Hogan needed to stand down. He'd tried to talk sense to them, even reminded them of that time in camp when she'd hypnotized that German Colonel; why, who's to say she hadn't done that to Peter; Lord knows she'd had plenty of opportunity to do so. Nothing he said swayed them, and when he finally told them that he was starting to wonder if she hadn't hypnotized them as well, they just looked disgustedly at each other, got up and left.

LeBeau had turned in the doorway, no warmth in his face or in his voice, "the midday meal will be in one hour; if you do not wish to join us, I can bring you a tray," and he crisply, angrily told him, "yes, that will be fine, do that!"

Perhaps while they were all at lunch, he'd be able to see what he could see in the rooms down the hall; that's where the office was, he knew, the library, what they called the 'family' rooms. Hmmmppphh! 'Family', right. No two of them related, that he knew for sure, and Carter was being housed in that section too! And that never HAD made any sense to him! He just might try for a word with Andrew as well, see what he could find out. Well, he'd just see what he could see! Might come across something to convince Peter to cooperate, maybe even something that would convince that woman it would be in her best interest to encourage him to do so. Yes, he was an expert at using information to his best advantage; there must be something in there he could use!

Midway through a quiet luncheon, the buzzing alarm sounded from above; Peter and the others turned their heads quickly toward Caeide, eyes wide; they'd never heard it go off before; indeed, as he remembered her telling him, it had never been set before, not since the earliest days anyway. Then, before they could get upstairs, they heard the barking and growling and snarling, and then the slam of a door. At a touch of her hand to a indentation on the wall the buzzing stopped, as quickly as it started. Caeide motioned them back, went swiftly up, but returned just as quickly, a small grin on her face.

"All seems to be in place; perhaps the alarm 'misfiring' like that annoyed Estelle; she seems in a most foul mood, has positioned herself in front of that hallway to the guest quarters like she has something tree'd. I'll go with you later, Louie, to collect that tray from Hogan; I know you are skilled at the big dogs, and Estelle likes you quite well, but just to be safe, eh?"

And Louie grinned back at her, in appreciative amusement, "as you say, ma soeur, just to be safe."

"When you do go up, Louie, you might tell 'im we're getting together for a last few rounds of cards in a bit, that is, if the rest of you would be up for that?" he asked with raised eyebrows. Louie and Kinch agreed, Andrew saying, "maybe, Peter, I'm not sure; I was intending to work with Maude in the brewery for awhile; I may join you later."

Peter nodded his agreement, and Maude did too, though that was certainly a surprise to her; she had nothing in the works in the brewery right now, but now she thought on it, it was a nice, cool private place for a sit down and she rather thought that might be what young Andrew had in mind. She knew he hadn't given Peter a final answer as to whether he wanted to stay or not, so thought he might have some final questions before he made his decision. Well, she was fond of the lad, and truly hopeful he'd decide to come join us, and wouldn't mind spending part of the afternoon with him in any event.

The game of cards had been going on for more than two hours, Hogan having come down the stairs with LeBeau, giving Estelle a singularly dirty look as he passed, though not half so dirty as the one she gave him, with Estelle showing more teeth through those curled back lips, to LeBeau's secret amusement. Caeide had waited til they got downstairs before she went into the library; everyone was on their best behavior, Peter not even cheating as much as usual. When Andrew joined them, he sat nearby, watching the play til the hand was finished, then pulled up a chair to be included in the next round.

He was quietly pleased with his visit with Maude. She'd answered a few new questions he'd had, things he'd wanted to know but had never asked Peter, thinking it might be an intrusion, but now thinking he needed to know; in response to his inquiry, she had built out a better view of what it'd been like when Peter arrived, his condition, his welcome here, his less than warm welcome from most of the community, til Caeide had put paid to that piece of impertinence. He'd laughed at her description of how the young woman had taught the locals that Peter was a part of Haven, and how she showed them they'd have her to deal with if they didn't accept that and right quickly! She'd told how he'd found his feet, finding things that needed doing that he had a talent for, finding new talents he'd never suspected he had, all to the betterment of Haven, and to his increased contentment and self-respect. They'd ended their chat in good harmony with each other and, at the end, he'd asked her a favor. That, if Hogan returned and tried to get Peter to leave, or if he tried that in any other way, to let Andrew know right away; that he HAD to talk to Peter, and maybe Caeide, before Peter made a decision like that.

Maude had asked him, her head tilted to look up at him, "if there's anything you need to say to him to prevent that, wouldn't it be best to say it now, Andrew?" only to have him shake his head violently and his breathing to get tight and have him look like he was starting to get sick to his stomach.

"No, Maudie, it looks like he's made the right decision for now, and I can't . . . I don't want to . . . Just, if I really have to, I will, but . . ." and somehow she seemed to understand, maybe just a little bit, perhaps even too much, because she hugged him, took him firmly by the shoulders, looked at his face, and said, "I'll just do that, Andrew, I promise you," and then kissed him on his cheek.

A pleasant afternoon, a pleasant dinner, followed by drinks and desultory talk in the big room finished the day, the last before the planes arrived in the morning, one to head to the States with Andrew and Kinch, one to Europe with Louie and the General.

Peter had found the opportunity for a long private chat with each of his team mates, and much was discussed, much remembered, much promised in the way of future dealings. With each of them, Louie and Kinch and Andrew, the subject came up, and he received each of their thoughts on areas he might need to watch out for with Hogan; each of them knew him well, remembered all the 'monkey business', and he mentally compiled their notions, reluctantly but honestly given - no, not reluctantly given, just reluctance to believe that one who'd meant so much to them could wish any one of them harm, but finally, reluctant acceptance that there was a strong possibility that that was the case, though Hogan would most likely not think of it as doing harm, just being a matter of him getting what he wanted, what he thought best.

Peter had left Andrew to the last of the three, having more to discuss, something more important in many ways than Hogan's machinations, whether Andrew had made a decision about joining Haven. Peter had been disappointed to hear that Andrew felt he needed more time, needed to get home and rethink everything there, but understood; it was a big decision to make, and he now understood more than ever something about the making of big decisions.

He wrapped his arms around Andrew, pulling him close, resting his head against the lighter one, "you take whatever time you need, Andrew; that offer, it's not going away, you know, and neither are we," with a smile, and a familiar ruffling of the younger man's hair. 

The very last, however, the one he'd put off for as long as he could, had been Hogan. In fact, he'd put it off til morning. Somehow, although he truly didn't know or even really care if it was cowardice or sensible caution or just not wanting a fuss that would disturb everyone's rest, he hadn't wanted to deal with Hogan in any private manner, especially with the whole rest of the night stretching out in front of them. No, he bid him a cordial 'good night' along with the others, reminded everyone breakfast would be at 6:30, with the planes arriving by 10:00, with an immediate departure, no layover for the pilots like there'd been on their arrival.

Estelle spent the night on the landing between the guest quarters and the family quarters, only moving her big head to watch as Hogan made his way first to LeBeau's room, and then, in very quick order, with a disgusted shake of his head, to Kinch's room, and then, in no more time, back to his own. He turned once toward the hall, but the huge dog was laying where he would have to pass her to get to either the stairs or to the door he could see in front of him. He looked at her, she looked at him, and her lips slowly pulled away from her rather remarkable set of teeth, and a low rumble came out of her chest. He pursed his lips, went back to his room and closed the door with a decided slam!

Louie, hearing that rumble, those quick footsteps, that thump of the door, giggled a bit into his pillow, imagining that scene. Estelle was also a member of this family, and she obviously didn't like Hogan any better than the other ladies did! 

Morning came, as morning usually did, and by 6:30 everyone was gathered around the long table in the kitchen, partaking of a well thought out breakfast, satisfying, nourishing and certainly tasty, but not so heavy as to weigh unduly on stomachs soon to be airborne. Hogan had joined them, as if nothing had happened, being his own charming self, keeping things light, not trying for any manipulation that anyone could see.

Still, he had turned to Peter when the meal was over, and the final round of coffee cups had come and gone, and the eight o'clock chime had rung, and suggested, "Peter, let's find a place to have a chat, shall we? It'll be awhile before I find myself in this part of the world again."

Marisol gave a silent hummmpph of disapproval to herself. {"For all the world as if he'd be welcome to just drop in whenever he pleased; again, as if the decision is his, not Peter's, not Caeide's! I wonder if he's always considered himself the center of the world, or if it was being in charge at the camp, with all their doings, if that convinced him of his own importance! Or maybe it's just a military thing."}

Peter nodded, "acourse, you can come along while I do the last little bit of my morning chores, if you like. Did most earlier, before you all were up, to be able to spend this last time with you all, but still a bit to get done. Or, if you prefer not, I should be back round nine or so."

Hogan frowned, "that wouldn't give us much time, with the planes arriving at ten. Can't you let the chores go, or have someone else handle them?"

Peter gave a little chuckle, "well, see, General, that's the thing about daily chores; we all 'ave em, each of us 'ave enough of our own without taking on someone else's, less there's a real need like if someone's ill. Still, I expect I could put them off til after the planes leave; will put me behind a bit, but I suppose it won't 'urt for once."

Hogan gave a pleased smirk, seeing his opportunity form in front of him, thinking to draw Peter up to his room for one last encounter, one last reminder of what he was giving up, set things up for the offer to be repeated in a few days, once Peter had the chance to reconsider.

The pleased look didn't last when Andrew and Kinch came down the stairs with the luggage from the three guest rooms in their arms. Andrew gave them a wide innocent smile, "thought I'd go ahead and bring these down; oh, we packed for you, General!; my stuff is already at the landing strip, I moved it out earlier, and Maudie wanted to get started with the guest rooms, stripping the linens, doing all the rest, you know, it being wash day. Oh, General, she found your watch in your sheets, here it is," handing it over, letting him know that his room, anyway, had been dismantled.

Hogan stiffened, knowing full well that watch had been on the table beside the bed and not anywhere else. He'd left it there, just in case he needed an excuse to go back there, taking Peter with him. He gave Andrew a baleful glance, only to get that innocent smile once again.

"Peter, perhaps your room?"

"Oh, Maudie'll have all the rooms turned upside down by now and airing, always does on wash day, we count ourselves lucky she doesn't tip us outta the beds afore we can set foot on the floor most like, and the office, well, no offense, but no one but family steps foot in there, that's just the way it is. Upstairs is pretty well off limits til she gets it all to 'er satisfaction. We've the tables in the big room, or the kitchen table, or the porch, whichever you'd like," with a big smile, almost as innocent as Andrew's, to Hogan's astonishment, and Kinch's internal amusement. {"Hell, Peter wasn't that innocent when he was born!"}

The conversation went better than Peter had expected; not good, mind you, but better than he'd expected. He'd been able to block out most of the really annoying comments Hogan made; he'd ignored, at least for the most part and in the beginning, all the hints and intimations of Peter not making the best decision, coming to regret this in days to come, all with a truly amazing sincerity and earnestness and innocence of purpose that had Peter thinking of a crocodile from some children's book he'd read years ago, a story he even faintly remembered recounting to Andrew one long night at the camp.

His jaw tightened when Hogan shifted into faint hints about the RAF, about that missed debriefing, about that mess with Berlin Betty.

"Well, about that last, seems I recall you making a file, with all the particulars, so London would know the truth about that," giving his former commander a bland look, careful to keep any sign of accusation away. Peter knew damned well there was a file, because Caeide's family had made a point of retrieving a copy and getting it certified and tucked away somewhere safe, just in case.

"Yes, well, of course I did," came reluctantly, with a slight frown; Hogan opened his mouth as if to say something else, then paused, and closed it again as if he'd reconsidered.

{"Right, doubt 'e'll make any outright threats, just leave the possibilities out there to give me some worry, working meself into a state, 'e knows I'm right good at that!"} Peter thought with some disgust. And with a unconcerned shrug, "as to the rest, the RAF's known where I was for any time now, coulda called me in for any questions they 'ad at any time, 'ad they a mind to."

Hogan's eyes grew big at that, Peter noted with deep satisfaction.

{"Acourse, they don't know they've known; there's a nice tidy little addition to my file now, all right and proper, if anyone ever thinks to look, which I doubt anyone's done in recent months, though they might now at 'is urging. Where I am, medical reports as to my illness, confused state at time of disembarkation, letters offering my illustrious presence at their convenience, carbon of letter back to me stating that wouldn't be necessary, just reminding me that anything I knew was 'classified' and to keep my lips shut, proper date stamps and all, all that they could ask for. Leave it up to them to wonder just how they managed to miss that! Don't know just 'ow the Clan managed that bit of fast finger work, but they say it's all right and tight, as best they could make it anyways, and them, I can trust. If it don't suffice, well, it won't be for the lack of them giving it their best shot, and can't do any better than that!"}

"They located Kinch and Andrew to do that debriefing, though not at first, of course, though they seemed to 'ave missed out with Louie entirely. And, 'ardly my fault, any of our faults, that original plan to keep the team together for that first debriefing went all pear-shaped, now was it? We'd planned to stick together, end up in London together; seemingly the military 'ad other plans for us," he said with a shrug, his eyes downcast, not wanting Hogan to see the anger that had come to him gradually over the months.

In the beginning, he'd not questioned that they had been handled with such casual disregard, at best, while Hogan had gotten the hero's welcome. He'd not questioned that while the other three hadn't been in a position to stave off the RAF and its inquiries, Hogan had been, but hadn't bothered, had been too busy with his new importance, his promotion, his grand tour to think about, do anything for his command team. Recently, especially after talking to Kinch and Andrew, knowing Hogan hadn't reached out to them either until quite some time after their return, and then, not in anything other than a very casual manner. As far as Louie knew, there had been no attempt made to reach him, but he admitted, with the state of things in France, he could certainly not swear to that. 

When Peter heard the 9:30 chime, he drew back from the rail. "Well, best go see everything's in place; planes should be coming in about thirty minutes, and they'll want us in place when they land. They've other stops to make this round, and can't tarry" and turned to move back inside.

Hogan followed, fuming inside at the tall rangy man in front of him; somehow that conversation had NOT gone anything like what he'd planned! When they stepped inside, it was to find everyone gathered in the big front room, no luggage in sight. 

At the raised eyebrows from Peter, Caeide told him with a serene smile, "Andrew and I took the pieces up to the strip. We double checked the rooms, as well, to be sure nothing's been left behind."

They all stood talking, the team mates, knowing this would be the last time they'd have the opportunity for awhile, and soon it was time to leave for the landing area. As she heard the planes above, she nodded to the big round table; five glasses had been set out, a bottle in the middle of the table.

"Thought you might want to share a drink before you all part ways again," and she walked over to pour a small amount in each glass, handing them around. They all accepted their glass, most with a smile of appreciation, though she didn't get or expect to get a smile of any kind from Hogan, who seemed to be in a right snit from what she could tell.

The men waited til everyone had a glass, then Peter proposed a toast, "to comrades in arms, to brothers, to Unsung 'eroes!" and they each tipped their glass and drained it dry. They all made their way up the long trail to the flat place where the planes were now in place, pilots loading the luggage into the appropriate plane.

"General, you and Louie are in this one," Peter told them with a smile, embracing Louie warmly, giving Hogan a firm handshake. He took note of the tears in Louie's warm brown eyes, as well as Hogan's rapidly blinking eyes and slight frown. He smiled at them both, and watched them climb into the plane. Those on the ground all waved as the plane took off.

He turned to his remaining team mates, "Kinch, this one's your private coach, just for you and Andrew. Have a safe trip, mates!" and gave each of them a warm hug, and received a warm hug in return. Kinch climbed into the plane, and Peter turned to Andrew, "Andrew, luv, I hope you'll be back with us, and right soon," he said, his voice little more than a husky whisper now, and he pulled his Andrew back to him for another tight hug.

Andrew nodded up at him, "I hope so too, Peter; I just need some time to think about it, is all," and he climbed in after Kinch, who wondered just a bit about that last private farewell, but decided it was none of his business.

Louie, in that first plane, settled back at takeoff to think over his time at Haven. He had been rather dreading this time alone with Hogan, thinking he'd have to hear again all the reasons Peter should have said 'yes' to Hogan's offer. To his surprise, Hogan appeared to have gone to sleep even before the takeoff was complete. He frowned over at the man, taking note of the slight droop of the mouth, the slackness of the jaw, and his own eyes grew wider.

He cast a started glance at the pilot, one of Caeide's Clan, who looked back at him with a grin full of mischief, "thing about Haven, it's right hard to find unless you know just where to look. When you all came in, the gauges were all aflutter, you know, for some reason, and due to weather, we rather took the scenic route, looping back and around more than a bit. Going back out, it's a bit harder doing it that way, especially if you are Europe bound; guess it's a good thing the General decided to take a nice little nap, wouldn't you say?" and Louie thought back to that last minute toast, those glasses poured and handed around so sweetly by the redheaded Caeide, Mistress of Haven, and he started to giggle, then to laugh.

He was rather proud that he'd been left awake to share in the joke, and he was sure Kinch and Andrew were making the trip awake as well. Throughout the trip, the pilot was amused to hear that giggle, that laugh burst forth.

When they landed, first in France to let LeBeau take his departure, the General was still groggy; he did manage to shake LeBeau's hand, wish him well. By the time they landed in Germany, Hogan was fully awake, but with a splitting headache. He took possession of the dufflebag handed out to him by that pilot, who for some reason seemed somewhat amused, and made his way down the tarmack to the jeep waiting for him.

{"Damn, haven't had a headache this bad in a long time! Must be the sheer aggravation of dealing with that woman and that stubborn, stubborn man! Well, I'll figure out how to deal with all that later."} 

 

They stood on the green grass, as the second of the two planes took off. Peter felt a bit empty, seeing his friends, seeing Andrew leave again, though having Hogan depart was much more of a deep relief than anything else. He turned to the three standing behind him.

"What now?" he asked, somewhat helplessly.

A warm smile from Caeide reassured him. "Now, love, now we settle down to living our lives. We wait for Andrew to make his decision, hopefully the one we'd like him to make. We plan for any problems that might arise. We think over ways we might make life a bit easier, a bit better for Kinch, for Louie. We do as well as we can for each other, for Haven. Now, we live our lives!" and that answer got an agreeing nod and smile from the other two women, and he found himself grinning in return.

{"All that might not sound like much, compared to 'is plans for facing down new enemies, searching out old ones, continuing the game, but it sounds bloody good to me!"}

The walk back to the house was made in companionable silence, and as they entered through the door, Maude took the first step, "Peter, I've a good start on the wash; could you take that first basket out and get it hung before you go after those chores left undone from earlier, while I work on the rest and get the makings for lunch set to?"

He nodded agreeably, and Marisol announced she was taking the wagon up to the orchard to get enough plums for a batch or two of preserves, a pie or two, maybe some to set to dry for winter, it being easier to do those in small batches, and enough to make some scones for this afternoon's tea if anyone was interested, and it seemed that all were most interested. Caeide headed off to the stock barns, where she'd complete the work interrupted by the departing visitors, though she'd of course taken care of the essentials early on; seeing to the care and comfort of the animals was a high priority, as they could hardly see to that themselves! Later, after a late lunch, they'd discuss the work still to be done, the projects needing to be dealt with going forward, including getting Maude's new quarters set up, and Andrew's as well, considering how much they were hoping he'd decide to come to them.

Caeide sat at the table downstairs, pad and pencil in hand, cup of coffee in hand, making one of her infamous lists, when Peter came in from the dairy barn.

"Look like the milk's running out from those two; we'll miss it when it's done!" he commented, setting the two pails on the counter. "I know the goats give enough for cheese, but I just can't get used to the taste of goat's milk in my tea, so I guess I'll be back to taking it straight up. Best enjoy it while I can, I suppose," he said with cheerful resignation.

She smiled up at him, "well, everything in its season; we wouldn't enjoy it all so much if we had it year round. This way we get to savor each in its own time. And in order to do that, maybe some fresh cream cheese and butter with those scones Marisol promised? You won't have too long to wait til fresh milk starts coming in; we've the other three due any time now, you know." His eager smile made her chuckle. They all enjoyed tempting and satisfying that sweet tooth of his that had for so long gone unfed. It didn't add much to his weight, but seemed to ease that residual gauntness.

"What's on the list, and why are you working on it down 'ere, not in the office? Marisol's going ta run you out once she gets back, you know; she'll be in need of the table."

"Well, you have the planting charts spread out over the desk in there, and I didn't want to disturb anything."

He frowned thoughtfully, "you know, think I've seen another desk or at least a table up in the big storeroom; couldn't we rearrange the office, give us each a bit of space?" His smile shone over at her, more open and welcoming than she could remember it being since that first year.

She grinned at him in return, "I'd think we could; that might be pleasant, and would help with the discussing of things as well, having things right at hand. With their sitting room right across the hall, it would be convenient to bring Maude and Marisol into the discussions as well, at least til Maude moves downstairs, and she says she'd still likely come spend some of the quiet hours with Mari up there." She gathered up her supplies and dropped them off in the office.

The two of them made their way to the storeroom, searching out a proper desk, or something that could serve til a proper desk could be found, along with a comfortable chair. They were well along with the search, when the daybed along the side caught his eye; in short order, he'd caught her up in his arms with a laugh, and swinging around to close and latch the door behind them, settled down to a goal he'd recently made for himself, a goal to initiate every room in this house, every building on this homestead, not to mention the orchard, and a few other choice spots. While he'd not mentioned that goal to his Caeide, he rather thought she'd not mind in helping him achieve that goal, and it turns out, she didn't mind at all.

They didn't bother to explain their absence, their flushed appearance and grins were explanation enough, and the others just laughed with pleasure at the welcome sight. Time might come when they'd be complacent enough about the new ease between those two to fuss, but it wouldn't be anytime soon, they knew, and rather doubted that time would ever come. This had been too hardwon, too long in the coming.

So she finished her list; starting the processing of those fleeces she and Andrew had sheared from that small nucleus of the golden sheep herd, treating each batch differently to see what would bring out the best features of the wool; planning the next breeding round of the stock; drawing up plans for a series of stone based greenhouses - only one would be built to begin with, to see how it got on, but best to leave room for three or four, if that first one worked out well; writing to suppliers about seed for the upper fields - no, Peter had taken that on, she remembered, so she crossed that off her list; checking the barns and storage buildings and the house itself, including the old homestead, to see if any repairs or tightening needed to be done before cold weather set in, including any screening over possible entry points for adders and the like, remembering her previous experience; working with the others to get Maude's new quarters in place, all neat and tidy and convenient and welcoming, so she could move in whenever she liked; inventorying supplies to order from other enclaves or outside suppliers - no, only the stock supplies, Maude and Marisol were handling the rest, though they'd all sit down and go over it to be sure everything had been considered, since it wasn't every day or even every month when supplies were ordered or delivered; checking the lists for what other enclaves had requested from them in the next distribution - no, again, Peter was handling that.

There was one thing on her list she had taken care of, well not totally, of course, but started the process. After they'd left this morning, she spent a bit of time on the radio with the Clan, letting them know about Hogan and the feeling he'd be attempting trouble of some sort. They would be on the lookout, would brainstorm to try to circumvent any such efforts. She'd get back to them with any ideas she and the others had, as well.

She also asked the Clan to keep a watching brief on Andrew, Louie and Kinch; her affection and concern for the three of them was quite real, and she wanted to know if there was any hint of trouble. They hadn't endeared themselves to their former commander either during the past few days, she knew quite well, in their attempts to prevent him causing harm. She made a mention of the trouble between Hogan and Garrison and his team, as well. Might as well be on the lookout for trouble on every front, the way his mind worked.

Bringing her mind back to Haven, she thought back to the early days, when she did it all herself, and wondered how it got done. Of course, it was all on a far smaller scale, but still, all the basic things had to get done, stock and fields and buildings and gardens and orchards and more, and she had managed it all. It was good now, to look around and see the family, the partnering that allowed so much more to be done, more importantly, to see them all happy and content and engaged.

The thoughtful smile dimmed, as she thought to how close they'd been to losing this, and she gave thanks again that Peter had chosen them, this life, for their sake, for his, for hers, and hopefully, very soon, for Andrew's sake as well.

{"I'll not let that sit too long; I think the lad might find himself a bit stuck in the making of a decision, might need some encouragement, some reminder that he's loved, wanted and needed. It would be easy for him to forget that somewhat, allow himself to become unsure of that, back there where he's not as valued as he could be. The decision will be his, I'd not take that from him, but to remind him that we care for him, miss him, that would not be wrong,"} and she nodded firmly to herself.

Peter looked at her, brows raised in inquiry, and she smiled at him, "just a stray thought, love. The others should be home, if not by now, then soon. We'll check with Andrew in a week, no more than two, what do you say? Not to push, but to let him know he's thought of?" and was rewarded by the warm glow in his eyes, that smile and his eager nod.

Maude and Marisol made a tour through the rooms, making sure the family rooms were in order for the night, fresh linens, light covers for the faint chill that could come in the early hours. Time enough tomorrow to set up the guest rooms; in fact, might not be a bad idea to let those rooms air with the windows open tomorrow, if the day was fine, along with young Andrew's room. And, between the two of them, they set out to see what would be needed to turn that room, and the empty room next to it, into a suite of rooms for him upon his return, for they were confident that he would return. He'd been too much at home here among them, at the homestead, for that not to happen; they were confident Caeide would provide the right sort of encouragement to let him take the offer made in the spirit in which it was made and come to join them.

They discussed what to do with Maude's bedroom upstairs when she moved to the new quarters downstairs; Marisol was well content in her room and had no desire to move down closer to the stairs.

"Perhaps we clear the room, air it, and see how conducive it might be for a nursery?"

Maude said with a sly grin. "Seems I've seen a few pieces that might make a start, we could work on curtains when we do the rest of the sewing, and could start keeping a look out for cradles and such, maybe talk old man Deavers into making one or two over the winter?"

Marisol nodded in full agreement, "best have it be two at least; her mother's had the two sets of twins and that last, well, there were three, you know! We could keep them hidden away til we need them, and use the bits and pieces of our work for the linens, coverlets and the like. Yes, it would be good to be prepared!"

They were still chuckling when they came down the hall, meeting Peter and Caeide, but forbode to talk about what they'd found so amusing, but changed the subject to Caeide's lists, which they all found most useful, but also most amusing. Marisol had told her once that she was surprised Caeide didn't start her daily list with "have the sun come up" since without it being on that list it was amazing that it happened with such regularity. Caeide had grinned and blushed, but asserted her opinion that lists were her way of keeping her mind organized, to which a round of snorts and laughs was her only response.


End file.
